CHARACTER   BUILDING 


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Character  building 


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PROFIT  SHARING  between  Employer  and 
Employee :  A  Study  in  the  Evolution  of 
the  Wages  System.  Fourth  Thousand. 
Crown  8vo,  ^1.75. 

THE  LAWS-QF  DAILY  CONDUCT.  Third 
Edition.     Crown  8vo,  $1.00. 

SOCIALISM  AND  THE  AMERICAN  SPIR- 
IT.     Crown  8vo,  $1.50. 

HOUGHTON,    MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
Boston  and  New  York. 


^p  ©UtoarU  ]).  f  acfeson. 

CHARACTER  BUILDING:  A  Master's  Talks 
with  his  Pupils.  Crown  Hvo,  ;Ji.oo.  Pub- 
lished by  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co., 
Boston  and  New  York. 

A  DEMIGOD;  A  Novel.  i6mo,  $1  00.  Pub- 
lished by  Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York. 

THE  EARTH  IN  SPACE.  40  cents.  Pub- 
lished by  D.  C.  Heath  &  Co.,  Boston. 


CHARACTER  BUILDING 

A  MASTER'S   TALKS   WITH   HIS  PUPILS 
By  EDWARD  P.  JACKSON,  A.  M. 


CHARACTER  BUILDING 


0  ^nmfsi  %M6  iDitl)  ^is?  pupils; 

■  BY     . 

EDWARD   PAYSON   JACKSON,  A.M. 


Z,ajf  rib  to  rib  and  beam  to  beam, 
A  nd  drive  the  treenails  free  ; 

Nor  faithless  joitit  7ior  ya^vning  seam 
Shall  tempt  the  searching  sea  ! 

Whittier 


^^VmH^ 

l^^9 

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■1^ 

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^rEiter{5ti)>i^rPsfi| 

BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 
(Cfe  Biterjsibe  T^ves0,  dambtiOge 
1899 


M, 


Copyright,  1891, 
By  EDWARD  PATSON  JACKSON. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mcwis.,  U.S.A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


^  ir^ 


T  13 


TO 

Mv  J^atbcr  anb  IKotfter 

WHOSE    FAITHFUL    TEACHINGS 

AND  WHOSE 

LIVES  OF  SELF-SACRIFICE   IN  THE   CAUSE   OF  HUMAN  WELFARE 

INSPIRED  WHATEVER  IS  WORTHIEST  IN  THESE  PAGES 

THEY  ARE 

AFFECTIONATELY  AND  GRATEFULLY 

DEDICATED 


PREFACE. 


The  American  Secular  Union,  a  national  association 
having  for  its  object  the  complete  separation  of  Church 
and  State,  but  in  no  way  committed  to  any  system  of 
religious  belief  or  disbelief,  in  the  fall  of  1889  offered 
a  prize  of  one  thousand  dollars  "for  the  best  essay, 
treatise,  or  manual  adapted  to  aid  and  assist  teachers  in 
our  free  public  schools  and  in  the  Girard  College  for 
Orphans,  and  other  public  and  charitable  institutions 
professing  to  be  unsectarian,  to  thoroughly  instruct 
children  and  yovith  in  the  purest  principles  of  morality 
without  inculcating  religious  doctrine." 

The  members  of  the  committee  chosen  to  examine 
the  numerous  MSS.  submitted  were  :  Richard  B.  West- 
brook,  D.  D.,  LL.  B.,  President  of  the  Union,  Philadel- 
phia ;  Pelix  Adler,  Ph.  D.,  of  the  Society  for  Ethical 
Culture,  New  York ;  Prof.  D.  G.  Brinton,  M.  D.,  of  the 
University  of  Pennsylvania ;  Prof.  Prances  E.  White, 
M.  D.,  of  the  Woman's  Medical  College ;  and  Miss  Ida 
C.  Craddock,  Secretary  of  the  Union.  As,  in  the  opin- 
ion of  a  majority  of  the  committee,  no  one  of  the 
MSS.  fully  met  all  the  requirements,  the  prize  was 
equally  divided  between  the  two  adjudged  to  be  the 
best  ouered,  entitled  respectively,  "  The  Laws  of  Daily 
Conduct,"  by  Nicholas  Paine  Gilman,  editor  of  the 
"Literary  World"  of  Boston,  and  author  of  "Profit 
Sharing  between  Employer  and  Employee ; "  and  "  Char- 
acter Building." 


va  PREFACE. 

Although  the  two  books  were  written  with  no  refer- 
ence to  each  other,  they  seem  to  be,  both  in  manner  and 
matter,  each  the  complement  of  the  other.  The  defi- 
ciencies of  each  are,  in  great  measure,  supplied  by  the 
other.  While  "  The  Laws  of  Daily  Conduct "  is,  in  the 
main,  synthetic  and  general  in  its  treatment,  the  present 
work  is  more  analytic  and  specific.  The  two  are,  there- 
fore, published  in  a  single  volume,  as  well  as  separately, 
at  the  earnest  request  of  the  Union,  and  the  authors 
hope  that  the  joint  book  will  be  preferred  by  purchasers. 
Much  of  the  matter  in  the  introduction  to  "  The  Laws 
of  Daily  Conduct "  is  equally  pertinent  to  "  Character 
Building." 

The  avoidance  of  sectarianism  was  not  a  difiiculty, 
but  a  relief.  Although  both  writers  wish  to  be  known 
as  friends  of  religion,  they  agree  in  the  conviction  that 
the  public  school,  which  belongs  equally  to  representa- 
tives of  all  sects  and  to  those  of  no  sect,  is  not  the  place 
for  special  religious  or  theological  instruction.  There 
is  enough  in  what  is  known  as  morals,  without  admix- 
ture of  a  distinctive  religious  creed,  enough  that  the 
good,  the  pure,  the  noble,  the  patriotic,  the  philanthro- 
pic of  all  creeds  can  agree  upon,  to  fill  not  one  little 
book  like  this,  but  a  library.  The  difficulty  is,  not  to 
find  material,  but  to  select  wisely  from  the  abundance 
at  hand. 

What  use  to  make  of  the  following  pages  each  teacher 
must  decide  for  himself.  They  may  serve  merely  as 
hints  as  to  methods,  or  they  may  supply  subjects  and 
their  treatment,  to  be  presented  in  such  other  language 
as  shall  seem  best  adapted  to  different  classes  of  hearers. 
Should  the  teacher  or  parent  prefer  to  read  them  in 
their  original  form,  the  time  required  for  each  of  the 
Talks  will  be  found  not  to  vary  materially  from  that 
prescribed  by  "  Dr.  Dix,"  ten  minutes,  at  most  fifteen, 
of  one  day  in  each  week  of  the  school  year. 

E.  P.  J. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


PAOE 

Preface. 

Prologue   

I.  Sincerity 

II.  What  is  Right? ^ 

III.  The  Sense  of  Duty 1^ 

IV.  "Credit,"  and  other  "Rewards  of  Merit"  .  19 
V.  Good  Boys  and  "Fun" 24 

VI.  Virtue  is  Strength:  Vice  is  Weakness  .        .  28 

VII.  More  about  Good  Boys  and  "  Fun  "     .        •  33 

VIII.  Cleverness  and  Courage 38 

IX.  The  Battle ^^ 

X.  Wars  and  Rumors  of  Wars       ....  47 

XI.  When  the  Good  Boy  will  Fight  ...  52 

XII.  When  the  Good  Boy  will  not  Fight      .        .  58 

XIII.  "  Goody- Goody  "  and  Good      ....  64 

XIV.  The  Knight  "  sans  Peur  et   sans  Reproche"  69 
XV.  The  Attractiveness  of  Vice-         ...  7o 

XVI.  Creeping,  Walking,  and  Flying       ...  80 

XVII.  The  Doctor  is  Fairly  Caught       ...  84 

XVIII.  The  Chains  of  Habit 90 

XIX.  The  Alcohol  Habit 96 

XX.  Beneficent  Lions  and  Tigers    ....  100 


XXI.  Truth  and  Truthfulness 


XXV.  Great  is  Truth,  and  it  will  prevail 


106 


XXn.  Truth  and  Truthfulness  (continued)      .        .    113 

XXIII.  Extravagance  in  Language    .        .        •        •        US 

XXIV.  Snakes  in  the  Grass 124 


129 


XXVI.  Honesty ^^^ 

XXVII.  Honesty  (continued) 1"*! 

XXVm.  A  Black  List 1*^ 


viii  CONTENTS. 

XXIX.  Honor 154 

XXX.  "  When  the  Cat  's  away  the  Mice  will  play  "  160 

XXXI.  Nagging 164 

XXXII.  Industry,  Wealth,  Happiness   .        .        .        .171 

XXXIII.  Industry,  Wealth,  Happiness  (continued)  176 

XXXIV.  Vocation,  Vacation,  and  Avocation         .        .  182 
XXXV.  Cruelty  to  Animals 188 

XXXVI.  Charity 195 

XXXVII.  With  Hand  and  Heart 199 

XXXVIII.  Politeness 205 

XXXIX.  Profanity  and  Obscenity        .        .         .        •  211 

XL.  What  has  Algebra  to  do  with  Virtue  ?        .  218 
XLI.  Home  and  Country  :  The  Good  Son  and  the 

Good  Citizen .224 


CHARACTER  BUILDING. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 

John  Dix,  Ph.  D.,  Principal  of  the  Freetown  Academy. 
His  Pupils. 

PEOLOGUE. 

"  A  time  to  keep  silence,  and  a  time  to  apeak." 

Dr.  Dix  [concluding  a  moral  lecture].  Well,  Jenkins, 
what  do  you  wish  to  say  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins  [with  a  shj  wink  at  his  classmates']. 
I  beg  pardon,  but  are  we  going  to  recite  our  Caesar  les- 
son to-day  ? 

Dr.  Dix  [glancing  uneasily  at  the  clock].     Is  it  pos- 
sible !     Keally,  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late.     I  was  so 
engrossed  in  my  subject  that  I  was  altogether  uncon- 
scious of  the  flight  of  time.     No,  Jenkins,  I  regret  that 
we  must  give  up  our  Csesar  lesson  for  to-day.     Jenkins 
should  not  have  waited  until  it  was  too  late  before  call- 
ing my  attention.    Ah,  ha !  he  knew  what  he  was  about, 
did  he  [laughing]  ?    Well,  well,  you  need  n't  look  so 
delighted.     We  '11  take  a  double  lesson  next  time,  and 
give  our  whole  attention  to  it.     I  hope,  however,  that 
the  time  to-day  has  not  been  altogether  lost ;  and  yet, 
as  I  said,  I  regret  that  our  Csesar  lesson  must  be  post- 
poned.    To  be  sure,  the  proper  discussion  of  a  great 
moral   principle   is    more  important  than  a  lesson   in 
Cffisar :  but  we  are  told  that  there  is  a  time  for  every- 


2  CHARACTER    BUILDING. 

thing ;  and,  in  strict  justice,  we  liave  no  right  to  give  the 
time  that  belongs  to  Csesar  to  anything  else,  or  to  any- 
body else,  however  worthy.     Well,  what  is  it,  Watson  ? 

Archibald  Watson.  "  Render  unto  Csesar  the  things 
that  are  Caesar's."     \_Lauffhter.'] 

Dr.  Dix.     "  And  "  —     Why  don't  you  finish  ? 

Archibald  Watson.  "  And  unto  God  the  things  that 
are  God's." 

Dr.  Dix.  Well  put,  my  lad,  well  put.  An  excellent 
application  of  a  famous  epigram.  The  past  hour  justly 
belonged  to  the  author  of  the  "  Commentaries,"  and  we 
have  given  it  to  Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus. 

It  is  nearly  time  for  the  bell,  but  I  will  mention  to 
you  a  plan  which  I  have  been  thinking  of,  and  which  I 
shall  probably  adopt.  There  are  many  things  I  wish 
to  say  to  you  not  directly  connected  with  your  lessons. 
To  avoid  in  future  the  mistake  I  have  made  to-day, 
it  is  my  intention  to  set  apart  ten  or  fifteen  minutes 
every  Wednesday  morning,  not  for  set  lessons,  but  for 
miscellaneous  Talks.  The  time  thiis  appropriated  will 
be  taken  equitably  from  the  various  branches  of  study, 
and  no  one  of  them  need  to  suffer  perceptibly.  But 
whether  they  suffer  or  not,  I  shall  feel  that  I  am  doing 
no  wrong ;  and  certainly  no  one  can  doubt  the  impor- 
tance of  questions  of  conduct  and  motive  in  a  school 
which  professes  to  form  character  as  well  as  to  train 
the  intellect. 

If  I  should  adopt  this  plan,  I  cordially  invite  you  all  to 
join  freely  with  me  in  the  discussions,  to  suggest  topics, 
to  ask  questions,  and  to  feel  no  hesitation  whatever  in  ex- 
pressing dissent  from  anything  that  may  be  said,  —  hon- 
est dissent  I  mean,  of  course.  I  hope  no  one  will  ever 
take  part  in  a  discussion  simply  to  carry  his  point  and 
win  a  victory,  or  merely  to  make  a  display  of  his  skill 
at  logical  fencing.  The  one  great  object  I  wish  every 
one  to  have  before  him  is  to  discover  and  point  out  the 
truth.  IB  ell.] 


SINCERITY. 


Dr.  Dix.  Well,  scholars,  after  further  consideration 
and  conference  with  certain  ladies  and  gentlemen  whose 
judgment  I  value  very  highly,  I  have  decided  to  adopt 
the  plan  which  I  mentioned  last  week. 

Until  further  notice,  then,  the  first  ten  minutes  of 
each  Wednesday  will  be  devoted  to  what  I  hope  will 
prove  not  only  useful  but  interesting  conversations.  I 
say  conversations,  for  I  want  you  to  do  your  share  of 
the  talking.  As,  however,  I  have  a  much  greater  store 
of  experience  to  draw  from  than  any  of  you,  I  expect 
that  my  share  will  be  much  larger  than  yours ;  but  I 
shall  always  take  good  care  to  give  you  a  full  opportu- 
nity to  say  all  you  feel  inclined  to  say.  You  have  only 
to  indicate  your  wish  in  the  usual  way,  and  it  shall  be 

granted. 

I  desire  that  these  Wednesday  Morning  Talks  of  ours 
shall  have  a  distinct  bearing  upon  the  formation  of 
character,  that  they  shall  be  such  as  shall  tend  to  make 
you  loyal  citizens,  and  good,  noble  men  and  women. 

And  first,  let  me  say,  the  easiest  and  cheapest  part  of 
morality  is  the  discussion  of  it.  Of  all  things  in  exist- 
'  ence,  words— if  they  are  mere  words  — are  the  cheap- 
est. Nothing  is  easier  for  some  men,  who  can  do  little 
else,  than  to  talk;  and  of  all  subjects  under  the  sun 
there  are  none  upon  which  more  empty  words  are  ut- 
tered than  upon  questions  of  morality.  As  you  have 
learned  in  your  study  of  English  Literature,  some  of  the 
most  exalted  sentiments  that  have  ever  been  expressed 
in  our  language  have  been  uttered  by  men  of  essentially 
ignoble  lives. 


4  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

The  first  condition,  then,  that  I  shall  impose  upon 
you  as  well  as  upon  myself  in  these  discussions  is  en- 
tire sincerity. 

Louisa  Thompson.  Do  you  mean  that  we  are  not  to 
speak  of  good  things  that  we  do  not  do  ourselves  ? 

Dr.  Dix  \_smiling'\.  I  fear  that  such  a  restriction 
would  close  many  eloquent  lips. 

Louisa  Thompson.  And  are  all  those  eloquent  peo- 
ple hypocrites  ? 

Dr.  Dix  [with  emphasis'].  By  no  means,  Miss 
Thompson.  But  the  noblest  human  character  is  full  of 
imperfections.  Before  any  good  act  is  performed,  be- 
fore any  noble  quality  is  attained,  it  must  be  thought 
of  and  aspired  to.  The  runner  in  a  race  must  fix  his 
thoughts  intently  on  the  goal  towards  which  he  is 
striving.  By  all  means  let  our  thoughts  and  words  be 
in  advance  of  our  actual  attainments.  That  is  the  very 
first  requisite  to  progress,  and  the  farther  in  advance 
they  are  the  better.  What  I  meant  was,  that  we  should 
not  profess  admiration  of  virtue  or  detestation  of  vice 
which  we  do  not  actually  feel,  —  that,  in  short,  we 
should  not  preach  what  we  do  not  at  least  sincerely 
desire  to  practice,  whether  in  our  weakness  we  are  able 
actually  to  practice  it  or  not.  I  think  we  shall  not  find 
this  too  severe  a  restriction.  I  take  it  for  granted  that 
there  is  no  one  here  who  has  not  a  genuine  desire,  more 
or  less  alive  and  awake,  to  become  better,  stronger, 
nobler,  more  admirable  than  he  is.  If  this  desire  is 
encouraged  —  and  there  is  no  better  way  to  encourage 
it  than  to  think  and  talk  about  it  —  it  will  naturally 
grow  stronger  and  stronger.  As  the  desire  strengthens, 
so  will  the  power  to  gratify  it.  There  is  no  other  sin- 
cere desire  of  the  human  heart  so  absolutely  sure  to  be 
realized  as  this. 

Do  not  let  our  talks  end  with  mere  talk.  Do  not  let 
any  of  us  discuss  the  beauty  and  nobility  of  truth- 
fulness, for  instance,  and  straightway  resume  the  prao- 


SINCERITY.  5 

tice  of  the  petty  deceptions  so  common  in  the  school- 
room, as  well  as  elsewhere.  Let  us  not  sound  the 
praises  of  industry,  cheerfulness,  forbearance,  gener- 
osity, and  immediately  proceed  to  the  indulgence  of 
idleness,  ill-temper,  impatience,  and  selfishness. 

Sioian  Perkins.     What  is  a  hypocrite.  Dr.  Dix  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Let  us  hear  your  own  definition  fixst,  Miss 
Perkins. 

Susan  Perkins.  Why,  if  we  should  do  what  you 
have  just  asked  us  not  to  do,  we  should  be  hypocrites, 
should  we  not  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Not  necessarily.  No,  not  even  probably. 
A  hypocrite  is  one  who  attempts  to  deceive  others  in 
regard  to  his  true  character,  especially  one  who  pre- 
tends to  virtue  which  he  does  not  possess.  I  should 
not  think  of  accusing  any  of  you  of  such  contemptible 
meanness,  even  if  you  should  do  what  I  have  just 
asked  you  not  to  do.  I  should  simply  think  that  your 
sentiments,  though  strong  enough  to  be  expressed  in 
words,  were  neither  strong  nor  deep  enough  for  the 
louder  speaking  of  action.  They  woulc'  be  like  certain 
plants  which  put  forth  very  showy  blossoms,  but  which 
have  not  vitality  enough  to  bear  fruit. 

No  ;  far  be  it  from  me  to  suspect  any  of  you  of  that 
degree  of  insincerity  which  amounts  to  hypocrisy,  a 
thing  so  utterly  mean  as  to  be  despised  alike  by  the 
good  and  the  bad.  But  if  you  give  occasion,  I  shall, 
of  course,  recognize  in  you  that  unconscious  sort  of  in- 
sincerity which  makes  us  satisfied  with  mere  words 
and  fleeting  emotions  instead  of  action,  —  with  im- 
pulse instead  of  steady,  persistent  purpose,  —  with  the 
shadow  instead  of  the  substance,  —  the  blossom  instead 
of  the  fruit. 

As  I  said  a  little  while  ago,  there  is  nothing  cheaper 
than  words.  But  even  those  whose  words  are  held  the 
cheapest  are  not  always  consciously  insincere.  Their 
emotions  and  sentiments  may  be  real  and  vivid  while 


6  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

they  last,  though  they  may  scarcely  outlast  the  noisy 
breath  that  utters  them. 

Whether  justly  or  unjustly,  it  is  the  common  disposi- 
tion of  mankind  to  place  a  low  estimate  uj)on  the  ear- 
nestness of  great  talkers,  and  more  particularly  upon 
their  will  and  power  to  do.  There  are  familiar  old  pro- 
verbs illustrating  this.     Let  us  have  some  of  them. 

Jane  Simjjson.  "Empty  vessels  make  the  most 
sound." 

Charles   Fox.     "  Still  waters  run  deep." 

Luci/  Snow.     "  Shallow  brooks  babble." 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes.  Proverbs  are  called  the  wisdom  of 
many  and  the  wit  of  one.  Those  you  have  given  are 
among  the  wisest  and  the  wittiest.  There  is  danger, 
however,  that  their  very  wisdom  and  wit  may  lead  to 
their  too  wide  application.  One  of  the  most  familiar  of 
the  proverbs  may  well  serve  as  a  check  upon  all  the 
rest.     Can  any  of  you  tell  me  what  it  is  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  ''  There  is  no  rule  without  excep- 
tions." 

Jonathan  Toicer.  And,  "The  exception  proves  the 
rule." 

Dr.  Dix.  If  any  of  the  proverbs  needs  the  check  of 
the  first  of  these  two,  it  is  certainly  the  second.  There 
is  no  rule  with  more  exceptions,  even  in  Latin  prosody 
or  German  gender,  than  that  "  The  exception  proves 
the  rule." 

It  is  not  true  that  all  or  even  the  most  of  great  talk- 
ers are  deficient  in  earnestness  or  in  the  power  and  will 
to  accomplish  good  in  the  world.  The  mission  of  such 
—  I  mean  really  great  talkers  —  is  chiefly  to  talk  ;  not 
to  express  what  they  do  not  feel,  but  sentiments  and 
emotions  which  may  be  even  deeper  and  more  fervent 
than  their  eloquent  words,  sentiments  and  emotions 
that  live  as  realities  in  their  hearts,  that  they  will  stand 
by  to  the  death,  if  need  be. 

Few  men  have  wielded  a  more  controlling  influence 


SINCEBITY.  7 

over  their  fello-w-men  than  Pericles  during  the  first 
years  of  the  Feloponnesian  War.  Cicero  attributes  his 
power  chiefly  to  his  surpassing  skill  in  oratory.  But 
what  could  Ris  oratory  have  accomplished  if  the  men  of 
Athens  had  not  known  that  their  eloquent  chief  meant 
every  word  exactly  as  he  said  it  ?  It  was  not  the  words 
that  gave  power  to  the  man  so  much  as  it  was  the  man 
that  gave  power  to  the  words.  Many  an  actor  on  the 
stage  has  equalled  and  perhaps  surpassed  Pericles  in 
the  tricks  of  voice,  facial  expression,  and  gesture ;  but 
the  sublimest  triumphs  of  the  stage  last  only  so  long 
as  the  illusion  of  reality  remains.  When  the  pageant 
is  over,  the  consciousness  of  its  unreality  returns,  and 
lo !  the  burning  words  have  lost  their  power,  save  as 
they  please  the  memory  and  the  imagination. 

And,  again,  it  is  not  true  that  all  "  still  waters  run 
deep."  There  are  shallow,  stagnant  little  pools  that  lie 
more  silent  and  still  than  the  deepest  tides  of  the  MiS' 
sissippi.  Silence  may  be  "  golden  "  or  it  may  be  leaden. 
It  may  be  the  silence  of  wisdom  and  self-mastery,  or 
it  may  be  the  silence  of  stupidity  and  cowardice,  the 
silence  of  the  owl,  or  the  silence  of  the  sphinx. 

Do  not,  therefore,  be  afraid  to  talk.  Only  talk  at  the 
right  time  aud  in  the  right  place,  and  be  thoroughly  in 
earnest.  Mean  what  you  say.  Feel  yourself  what  you 
urge  upon  others,  and  be  sure  that  your  feeling  is  some- 
thing more  than  a  momentary  impulse.  Dp  not  mis- 
take a  passing  breeze  for  a  trade-wind. 


II. 

WHAT  IS  RIGHT? 

Dr.  Dix.  I  don't  wish  you  to  look  upon  this  new 
move  of  ours  as  merely  the  introduction  of  a  new  branch 
of  study.  If  that  were  all  I  sought,  I  should  simply 
have  proposed  the  addition  of  ethics  to  our  curriculum. 
I  should  have  selected  a  suitable  text-book,  assigned 
lessons  to  be  learned,  perhaps,  and  appointed  an  hour 
for  recitation ;  in  which  case  some  of  you  would  proba- 
bly have  thought  more  of  your  "  marks  "  and  "  percent- 
ages "  than  of  the  branch  itself,  as  I  fear  is  true  with 
some  of  you  in  other  cases. 

No ;  it  is  not  merely  the  science,  but  the  art  and 
practice  of  morality  that  I  wish  you  to  acipiire.  If  tliis 
object  is  to  be  accomplished,  it  must  be  chiefly  through 
your  own  efforts.  Something  of  the  science  we  may 
learn  by  talking  ;  the  art,  like  all  other  arts,  can  be 
acquired  only  by  faithful,  persevering  practice. 

Charles  Fox.     What  does  ethics  mean.  Dr.  Dix  ? 

Dr.  Dix  \_looking  around  his  audience^.  Well,  we  are 
all  waiting  for  an  answer. 

Isahelle  Anthony.  The  science  of  morality,  or  moral 
philosophy. 

Dr.  Dix.     And  what  is  morality  ? 

Isahelle  Anthony.  I  should  say  it  was  a  comprehen- 
sive word,  including  all  our  ideas  of  right  and  wrong. 

Dr.  Dix.  That  will  do  very  well  for  the  present.  I 
might  ask  what  is  meant  by  "  right,"  and  Avhat  is  meant 
by  "  wrong."  That  would  lead  us  at  once  into  the  very 
heart  of  the  science  of  ethics. 

Charles  Fox.    And  is  n't  that  what  you  wish  ? 


WHAT  IS  EIGHT?  9 

Dr.  Dlx.  We  can  hardly  practise  an  art  successfully 
without  knowing,  either  by  acquisition  or  by  instinct, 
at  least  the  fundamental  principles  of  the  science  which 
relates  to  that  art.  What  I  wish  to  guard  against  is, 
lest  our  talks,  from  which  I  hope  so  much,  may  degen- 
erate into  distinctly  intellectual  exercises.  I  can  imag- 
ine our  pursuing  the  science  of  ethics  precisely  as  we 
study  chemistry  or  logic,  and  with  very  much  the  same 
result.  I  do  not  mean  that  that  result  would  not  in- 
clude moral  benefit.  I  believe  it  would,  just  as  I  be- 
lieve the  study  of  chemistry  —  ay,  even  of  algebra  —  is 
morally  beneficial  (and  we  shall  speak  of  this  more  at 
length  some  other  morning).  I  mean  that  the  moral 
benefit  would  be  secondary  to  the  intellectual  benefit, 
which  is  exactly  what  I  do  not  wish. 

I  have  often  heard  men  of  a  philosophical  and  argu- 
mentative turn  discussing  ethical  questions  for  no  other 
purpose  apparently  than  to  while  away  a  leisure  hour, 
and  to  display  their  logical  acumen.  I  have  heard  the 
loftiest  conceptions  of  right  and  duty,  in  the  abstract, 
eloquently  set  forth  by  men  whose  daily  lives  would 
indicate  anything  but  a  lofty  conception  of  their  own 
individual  duty. 

Of  course  we  must  have  something  of  what  is  known 
as  the  science  of  ethics,  but  not  enough  of  it  to  allow 
the  head  to  usurp  the  functions  of  the  heart.  AVe  will 
consider  that  this  ten  minutes  belongs  peculiarly  to  the 
heart,  and  we  will  allow  the  head  to  act  only  as  an  aux- 
iliary. It  is  enough  for  him  to  be  king  the  rest  of  the 
day,  with  the  heart  as  only  his  modest  and  meek  coun- 
sellor. Now  I  am  ready  to  ask  you  what  is  meant  by 
*'  right "  and  "  wrong." 

Miss  Thompson,  what  do  you  think  those  words  mean  ? 

Louisa  Thompson.  Eight  is  —  is  —  why,  it  is  that 
which  is  right.     \_Lnughter.'] 

Dr.  Dix.  And  wrong  is,  by  the  same  process  of  rea- 
soning, that  which  is  wrong,  eh  ?     Well,  I  don't  know 


10  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

but  that  I  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  your  answer.  It 
shows,  at  least,  that  the  words  have  a  clear  enough 
meaning  in  your  mind.  Eight  is  right,  just  as  gold 
is  gold;  and  wrong  is  wrong,  as  dross  is  dross.  And 
so,  I  suppose,  the  words  have  a  definite  meaning  in  the 
minds  of  all  present.  Still,  it  is  possible  that  they  may 
mean  different  things  to  different  persons.  Let  us  see 
how  nearly  we  agree.  Miss  Thompson,  will  you  try 
once  more  ?     Wliat  is  "right"  ? 

Louisa  Thompson.     Right  is  —  doing  good  to  others. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  I  was  going  to  say  that,  and  then 
I  thought  you  would  ask  what  I  meant  by  "  good."  So 
I  would  n't  say  it. 

Dr.  JDix  [^smilinr/^.  Precisely  what  I  was  about  to 
ask  Miss  Thompson,  not  for  the  sake  of  puzzling  her 
or  you,  but  for  exactly  the  opposite  reason  —  that  we 
might  begin  with  the  clearest  possible  ideas.  What  is 
"  good  "  ? 

Lotiisa  Thompson.  Whatever  causes  happiness  is 
good,  is  it  not  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Let  us  see.  It  is  said  that  the  effect  of 
certain  deadly  drugs  upon  the  nervous  system  is  to 
produce  a  sensation  of  intense  happiness.  Are  they 
good  ? 

Louisa  Thompson.  No,  sir ;  but  the  sensations  they 
produce  are  not  true  happiness ;  besides,  they  cause 
greater  unhappiness  afterwards. 

Dr.  Dix.  Then,  suppose  we  say  that  nothing  is  good, 
even  though  it  may  cause  happiness  —  or  what  seems 
to  be  happiness  —  if  it  causes  greater  misery,  or  if  it 
prevents  greater  happiness. 

But  suppose  I  do  something  which  causes  happiness 
to  certain  persons  and  unhappiness,  though  in  a  less  de- 
gree, to  others  who  are  innocent ;  is  that  good  ? 

Louisa  Thompson.     N-no,  sir. 

Thomas  Dunn.  And  yet  that  very  thing  is  often 
done,  and  called  right  and  good,  too. 


WHAT  IS  RIGHT?  11 

Dr.  Dix.    When  and  by  whom  ? 

Thomas  Dunn.  By  the  government,  when  innocent 
men  are  obliged  to  go  to  war  to  save  their  country. 

Dr.  Dix  \_im,pressvvely'].  '^ Dtdce  et  decorum  est  pro 
patria  viori."  ^  Men  ought  and  often  do  count  it  their 
greatest  happiness,  as  well  as  glory,  to  make  that  sac- 
rifice. 

Archibald  Watson.  Then  why  shouldn't  everybody 
count  it  happiness  to  make  sacrifices  for  others  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  So  everybody  should,  my  boy  ;  but  we  are 
not  speaking  now  of  those  who  voluntarily  make  sacri- 
fice, but  of  those  who  require  it  of  others.  And  it 
must  be  remembered  that  the  same  rules  cannot  be 
applied  to  a  government  that  are  applied  to  an  indi- 
vidual. What  would  be  perfectly  right  and  good  in 
the  government  might  be  a  capital  crime  in  an  individ- 
ual. It  would  not  be  right  for  me  to  seek  the  happiness 
of  some  of  you  at  the  expense  of  the  suffering  of  others 
who  did  not  deserve  it  at  my  hands,  —  even  though  the 
total  amount  of  the  happiness  I  thus  caused  might  over- 
balance the  pain.  So,  though  it  is  safe  to  say  that  all 
good  is  right  and  all  right  is  good,  yet  we  see  that  there 
is  something  involved  in  both  the  right  and  the  good 
besides  mere  happiness.     What  is  it  ? 

Julia  Taj/lor.     Justice  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes.  Justice  and  happiness  may  coincide, 
but  we  do  not  think  of  them  as  inseparably  connected. 
Let  justice  be  done  is  our  instinctive  feeling,  whether 
happiness  results  or  not.     "  Fiat  just  it  ia,  mat  coe.lum."  ^ 

George  Williams.  Is  it  not  both  right  and  good 
sometimes  to  set  aside  justice  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  No.  Justice  may  be  "tempered  with 
mercy  ;  "  but  it  is  never  right  nor  good  that  it  should 
be  "  set  aside."  Right  demands  that  the  mercy  shown 
to  some  should  never  involve  injustice  to  others,  as,  for 

^  It  is  sweet  and  g'lorious  to  die  for  one's  country. 
'  Let  justice  be  done,  though  the  heavens  fall. 


12  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

instance,  when  a  criminal,  unrepentant  and  unreformed, 
is  pardoned  and  let  loose  to  prey  again  upon  society. 

Well,  what  besides  kindness,  mercy,  and  justice  are 
included  in  right  ? 

Susan  Perkins.     Truth. 

Dr.  Dix.  Do  not  our  commonest  instincts  teach  us 
that  nothing  can  be  right  or  good  that  is  not  true  ?  A 
lie,  even  though  it  may  cause  no  unhappiness  to  any 
living  creature,  is  and  must  be  forever  wrong.  Right, 
rectus,  means  straight,  true.  A  right  angle  is  a  square 
angle.  Even  in  slang  a  man  that  does  right  is  called 
"  square  "  and  "  straight,"  while  a  rascal  is  sometimes 
called  a  "  crook."  Wrong  is  not  straight  nor  square ; 
it  is  oblique,  crooked.  Its  very  spelling  shows  what  it 
is,  —  w-r-ong,  wrung,  w^rested  from  the  true  and  the 
right.  The  wrong  does  not  go  straight  on  ;  it  writhes, 
it  wriggles. 

But  there  is  one  particular  word  which,  with  its 
equivalents,  expresses  the  idea  of  right  more  exactly, 
perhaps,  than  any  that  we  have  used  thus  far.  What 
is  it  ?     That  is  right  which  — 

Thomas  Dunn.     Ought  to  be. 

Dr.  Dix.  That  is  the  word,  ought,  owed.  Eight  is 
what  is  owed  by  somebody  or  something  to  somebody 
or  something.  Eight  is  a  debt,  debitum,  something 
owed.     And  there  are  equivalents  ;  what  are  they  ? 

Jane  Simjjson.     Eight  is  what  is  due,  duty. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes.  But  we  must  be  careful  that  we  do 
not  take  those  words  in  too  narrow  a  sense.  Some  men 
seem  to  consider  that  they  do  their  full  duty  to  their 
fellow-men  when  they  pay  what  they  call  their  business 
debts.     Are  they  right  ? 

Many  Voices.     No,  sir. 

Dr.  Dix.     What  else  do  they  owe  ? 

Louisa  Thompson.     Kindness. 

Henry  Phillips.     Charity. 

Jonathan  Tower.     Help. 


WHAT  IS  RIGHT?  13 

Liicy  Snow.     Forbearance. 

Jane  Simpson.     Friendship. 

Susan  Perkins.     Forgiveness. 

Dr.  Dix.  And  the  influence  and  example  of  a  noble, 
upright  life.  These  are  all  debts,  as  truly  as  those 
which  are  entered  in  their  ledgers. 


III. 

THE  SENSE  OF  DUTY. 

/■  Dr.  Dix.  To  do  riglit,  as  we  said  last  "Wednesday 
S  morning,  is  simply  to  do  one's  duty.  Kow  things  al- 
>ways  do  that.  Observe,  in  this  last  statement  I  am  not 
using  the  word  duty  in  its  strict  metaphysical  sense, 
which  involves  the  idea  of  a  right  voluntary  choice  be- 
tween alternatives  of  action.  I  use  it  simply  in  its  ety- 
mological sense,  that  of  giving  what  is  owed,  what  is 
due.     As  I  said,  things  always  do  that. 

Thomas  Dunn.  Do  they  always  ?  Does  a  watch,  for 
instance,  do  its  duty  when  it  refuses  to  go  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Always.  If  it  is  properly  made  in  the 
first  place,  and  is  not  abused  afterwards,  it  will  go  until 
it  is  worn  out,  and  then  it  is  its  duty  to  stop.  If  it  is 
not  properly  made,  and  is  badly  enough  abused,  it  is  its 
duty,  it  is  the  law  of  its  being,  so  to  speak,  not  to  go. 

Thomas  Dunn.  May  not  the  same,  or  at  least  a  simi- 
lar thing,  be  said  of  a  man  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes  and  no.  A  man  is  like  a  watch  only 
in  that  he  does  not  do  the  impossible.  He  is  entirely 
unlike  a  watch  in  that  he  does  not  necessarily  do  what 
he  can.  Yes,  Dunn,  things  always  obey  the  laws  of 
their  being.     They  always  pay  their  debts. 

Joseph  CracMin.  Bvit  they  deserve  no  credit  for  do- 
ing so  —  they  can't  help  it. 

Dr.  Dix.  Who  does  deserve  credit  for  simply  paying 
his  debts  ?  However,  we  will  not  consider  the  credit 
for  the  present ;  we  will  consider  the  fact  and  its  re- 
sults, which  are  precisely  the  same  as  if  things  could 
do  wrong  if  they  chose,  but  always  chose  to  do  right. 


THE  SENSE  OF  DUTY.  15 

A  part  of  the  lesson  we  are  to  learn  is  the  results  of 
right-doing  and  of  wrong-doing.  If  you  and  your  watch- 
maker do  your  duty  to  your  watch,  it  will  infallibly  do 
its  duty  to  you.  It  will  go  on,  never  resting,  never 
tiring,  never  losing  a  tick,  whether  the  eye  of  its  master 
is  on  it  or  not,  working  as  faithfully  through  the  long 
hours  of  the  night  as  in  the  daylight. 

In  a  school  reading-book  in  use  when  I  was  a  boy, 
there  was  an  ingenious  little  allegory  entitled  "  The 
Discontented  Pendulum,"  by  Jane  Taylor.  The  pendu- 
lum of  an  old  clock,  that  had  been  faithfully  ticking 
the  seconds  year  after  year,  was  represented  as  finally 
becoming  utterly  discouraged  by  its  unintermitting  la- 
bors and  the  prospect  of  their  never  ending,  and  ab- 
ruptly coming  to  a  full  stop.  After  pouring  out  its 
grief  and  discouragement  to  a  sympathizing  ear,  listen- 
ing to  a  due  amount  of  remonstrance  for  its  ignoble 
neglect  of  duty  and  of  encouragement  to  persevere  to 
the  end,  —  remembering  that  it  never  had  but  one 
swing  to  make  in  a  second  and  that  it  always  had  the 
second  to  make  it  in,  —  it  was  finally  persuaded  to  dry 
its  tears  and  return  to  its  duty.  I  remember  that  I 
liked  the  fable  very  much  ;  but,  with  all  my  admiration, 
I  could  not  quite  forgive  the  injustice  done  to  the  pen- 
dulum in  even  imagining  it  capable  of  unfaithfulness 
of  which  only  a  living  creature  could  be  guilty. 

No,  things  are  never  unfaithful.  The  stars  never  de- 
sert their  posts  for  an  instant  throughout  the  ages. 
The  planets  never  swerve  a  hair's  breadth  from  the 
courses  marked  out  for  them  by  nature.  Not  an  atom 
ever  refuses  to  fulfil  its  duty,  and  its  whole  duty,  in 
the  unending  work  of  the  universe.  The  grand  result 
of  this  unvarying  fidelity  to  duty,  this  perfect  obedience 
to  the  laws  of  nature,  is  perfect  harmony  throughout 
the  physical  universe.  It  is  only  in  the  moral  universe 
that  discord  reigns. 
'    The  lower  animate  creation  is  no  less  faithful  to  duty 


16  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

than  the  inanimate.  No  allurements  will  tempt  the 
mother  bird  to  desert  her  young.  The  working  ant 
never  idles  away  his  time.  Queens  are  only  mothers  in 
the  hive  and  in  the  nest :  neither  kings  nor  queens  are 
needed  for  government,  for  none  of  their  subjects  was 
ever  known  to  violate  a  law  of  the  realm. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  The  grasshopper  idles,  if  the  ant 
does  n't. 

Archibald  Watson.  Yes,  sir ;  and  we  have  the  fable 
of  "  The  Ant  and  the  Grasshopper." 

Dr.  Dix.  I  have  often  thought  that  fable  even  more 
unjust  to  the  grasshopper  than  Jane  Taylor's  to  the 
pendulum.  The  grasshopper  gets  his  living  through 
the  summer,  his  natural  term  of  life,  does  he  not  ? 
Many  a  Western  farmer  has  learned  that  to  his  sorrow. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.     Yes,  sir  ;  he  steals  his  living. 

Dr  Dix.  No,  I  cannot  admit  that.  Human  laws  of 
proj)erty  are  binding  only  on  men,  not  on  grasshoppers. 
They  know  only  the  laws  of  nature,  Avhich  recognize  no 
monopoly  of  the  green  fields  ;  they  have  never  learned 
to  read  the  warning  legend,  "  Ko  Trespass." 
■  Bui  let  us  see  what  even  the  grasshopper  will  do 
when  duty  calls.  When  the  devastating  multitudes 
sweep  over  the  plains,  leaving  no  green  shred  behind 
them,  attempts  are  sometimes  made  to  check  their  pro- 
gress by  lighting  long  lines  of  fire.  Then  comes  the 
vanguard  of  grasshoppers,  overwhelming  the  opposing 
walls  of  flame  like  an  extinguishing  wave  of  the  ocean. 
There  is  no  hesitation.  Haud  mora.'^  Like  Xapoleon's 
platoons  at  the  bridge  of  Lodi,  the  countless  multitudes 
go  unflinchingly  to  certain  death  for  the  sake  of  the 
vastly  greater  multitudes  behind  them. 

That  is  the  way  the  little  voluptuary  of  the  fable 
does  his  duty.     I  have  compared  him  to  the  heroic  sol- 
dier, the  human  type  of  that  perfect  fidelity  which  we 
have  seen  in  the  inanimate  and  in  the  lower  animate 
^  No  delay. 


THE  SENSE  OF  DUTY.  17 

creation.  The  true  soldier's  one  object  and  ambition  is 
to  do  his  duty,  no  matter  what  the  cost.  You  have  all 
heard  the  famous  story  of  the  burning  of  the  Czar's 
palace  at  Moscow  —  how  in  the  general  confusion  the 
order  to  relieve  the  royal  sentinels  was  not  issued  by 
the  proper  authority,  and  how  the  heroic  fellows  paced 
back  and  forth  upon  the  blazing  balustrades  as  if  they 
w^ere  on  parade,  until  the  falling  walls  buried  them 
from  sight. 

There  was  an  example  of  fidelity  to  duty  set  before 
the  world !  It  was  an  example  not  only  to  the  soldier 
guarding  his  sacred  trust,  but  to  all  men  in  all  stations 
and  conditions  of  life. 

What  seem  to  be  little  duties  are  as  binding  upon  us 
as  those  which  may  gain  for  us  greater  glory  and  admi- 
ration. The  regular  army  soldier  is  taught  to  be  as 
faithful  in  the  care  of  his  horse  and  of  his  wardrobe  as 
in  the  performance  of  his  graver  duties  on  the  battle- 
field. 

Now,  can  you  tell  me  why  the  sense  of  the  impera- 
tiveness of  duty  should  be  so  especially  prominent  in 
the  mind  of  the  soldier  ?  Why  more  so  than  in  the 
minds  of  men  in  general  ? 

Julia  Taylor.  It  is  no  more  so  than  in  the  minds  of 
other  faithful  people. 

Dr.  Dix.  VefyL-true.  Heroic  fidelity  to  duty  is  by  no 
means  confined  to  those  whose  trade  is  war.  There  are 
cowards,  traitors,  and  shirks  in  the  army  as  well  as 
elsewhere.  From  the  earliest  ages,  however,  the  soldier 
has  been  a  favorite  proverb  of  devotion  to  duty,  and  an 
idea  so  general  must  have  some  foundation  in  truth. 

Isabelle  Anthony.  One  reason  is,  that  bravery  is  so 
much  admired,  and  cowardice  so  much  despised. 

Dr.  Dix.  That  is  doubtless  a  part  of  the  explana- 
tion. But  to  be  brave  is  not  the  soldier's  only  duty  : 
his  first  and  greatest  obligation  is  to  obey  orders. 

Thomas  Dunn.     I   think  the   chief  reason   is,  that 


18  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

tliere  is  so  much  depending  on  his  doing  his  duty  faith- 
fully. If  he  sleeps  on  his  post,  the  safety  of  the  whole 
army  is  endangered ;  if  he  is  cowardly  in  battle,  the  vic- 
tory is  lost ;  if  he  is  disobedient  to  orders,  there  can  be 
no  discipline,  and  without  discipline  an  army  is  only  a 
mob. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes  ;  that  is  the  explanation  —  necessity. 
Fidelity  is  indispensable  to  efficiency.  An  army  com- 
posed of  untrustworthy  and  disobedient  soldiers  w^ould 
be  like  a  watch  —  if  such  a  thing  is  conceivable  —  in 
which  the  wheels  should  turn  or  not  as  they  individu- 
ally chose ;  or,  to  carry  out  my  former  comparison,  like 
a  universe  in  which  the  atoms  should  obey  the  laws  of 
attraction  and  repulsion  or  not  according  to  their  sov- 
ereign pleasure.  Such  an  army  would  be,  as  Dunn  says, 
a  mob  :  such  a  universe  would  be  chaos. 

Now,  boys  and  girls,  each  one  of  us  is  like  a  soldier 
in  an  army  —  with  this  difference  :  however  we  might 
wdsh  to  do  so,  we  can  neither  resign  nor  desert.  We 
must  ever  remain  parts  of  the  great  whole.  Each  of  us 
is  a  little  wheel  in  the  great  mechanism,  and  if  we  do 
not  do  our  share  of  the  turning,  or  if  we  turn  in  the 
wrong  direction,  we  do  so  much  to  block  the  machinery, 
to  disturb  the  general  harmony  that  might  prevail. 
"Why  should  any  of  us  feel  the  sense  of  imperative  duty 
less  strongly  than  the  brave,  true  soldier  ?  ^Vhy 
should  man,  the  apex  in  the  pyramid  of  being,  be  less 
obedient  to  the  laws  of  his  existence,  less  faithful  to  his 
duty,  than  the  wheels  of  his  watch,  than  the  ant  or  the 
bee,  than  the  minutest  atom  that  helps  to  hold  the  uni- 
verse together  and  keep  it  in  harmonious  motion  ? 


IV. 

"CREDIT,"   AND  OTHER  "REWARDS  OF  MERIT." 

Dr.  Dix.  During  my  eulogy  on  things  and  the  lower 
animals,  last  Aveek,  for  always  fulfilling  the  ends  for 
which  they  exist,  it  was  objected  that  they  deserve  no 
"credit"  for  doing  so,  because  they  cannot  do  other- 
wise. Well,  as  I  replied  then,  who  does  deserve  credit 
for  simply  doing  his  duty  ? 

Joseph  Cracklln.  AVhen  a  man  pays  a  debt,  it  is  put 
to  his  "  credit "  on  the  ledger. 

Dr.  Dix  \smiling~\.  That  sounds  like  a  very  clever 
answer  ;  but  it  is  only  a  play  upon  words.  Even  things 
deserve  credit  in  that  sense  of  the  word.  The  farmer 
credits  a  field  with  the  crop  that  he  considers  no  more 
than  his  due  for  the  labor  and  money  he  has  expended 
upon  it.  When  Cracklin  made  the  remark  that  "  things 
deserve  no  credit,"  he  used  the  word  in  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent sense,  that  of  commendation  for  positive  moral 
virtue.  A  man  who  merely  pays  his  debts  simply 
does  nH  do  wrong.  His  act  is  like  thousands  of  other 
acts,  neither  positive  nor  negative  so  far  as  their  moral 
nature  is  concerned ;  whereas  the  man  who  not  only 
pays,  but  gives  from  benevolent  motives,  is  "  credited  " 
with  an  act  of  positive  moral  virtue. 

Thomas  Dunn.  But  didn't  we  decide,  a  fortnight 
ago,  that  kindness,  charity,  generosity  were  only  debts 
that  we  owe  our  fellow-men  ? 

Dr.  Dix  [laughing'].  We  seem  to  have  stumbled 
upon  one  of  those  ethical  subtleties  that  I  was  so  anx- 
ious to  avoid.  It  is  not  so  subtle,  however,  as  it  seems. 
Words  often  have  a  very  different  force,  according  as 


20  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

their  application  is  high  or  low.  We  say,  for  instance, 
that  this  building  is  stationary.  It  is  so  only  with  ref- 
erence to  the  earth  on  which  it  stands.  Referred  to 
the  heavens,  we  know  that  it  is  in  rapid  motion.  So 
that  which  may  not  be  a  debt  in  the  business  sense, 
may  be  a  most  binding  debt  in  the  moral  sense.  The 
payment  of  such  moral  debts  has  positive  moral  virtue, 
and  is  entitled  to  moral  credit.  Let  us  consider  this 
moral  credit,  as  distinguished  from  business  credit. 

It  is'  a  part  of  the  natural  and  just  reward  of  well- 
doing. The  love  of  the  approbation  of  our  fellow-men 
is  implanted  in  us  by  nature,  and  is  entirely  commend- 
able, if  properly  regulated.  There  is  no  motion  with- 
out a  motor.  The  steam-engine  will  not  move  without 
steam,  neither  will  man  act  without  a  motive.  He 
labors  for  food  and  other  necessaries  and  comforts  of 
life.  Without  reward  of  some  sort  he  will  not  act, 
and  this  is  right.  As  I  said,  the  approval  of  his  fellow- 
men  is  one  of  these  rewards.  But  suppose  it  is  the 
only  or  chief  motive  for  doing  good.  You  have  read  of 
a  class  of  men  who  give  alms  that  they  ma}^  be  seen  of 
men.  You  know  what  is  said  of  them :  ''  They  have 
their  reward."  Do  you  not  detect  a  subtle  sarcasm  in 
that  laconic  awarding  of  the  prize  of  "  credit "  ?  Are 
they  really  entitled  even  to  the  poor  reward  they  re- 
ceive ?  If  men  knew  their  actual  motive,  would  they 
receive  it  ?  No ;  in  order  that  their  credit  may  be 
justly  earned,  it  must  be  only  a  secondary  motive  of 
action.  And  the  same  may  be  said  of  all  other  re- 
wards which  appeal  to  our  selfish  passions  and  desires. 
You  may  name  some  of  the  motives  which  impel  men 
to  do  good  and  shun  evil. 

IsaheUe  Anthony.  I  think  the  most  general  and 
powerful  motive  is  expressed  in  the  old  copy-book  line, 
"Be  virtuous  and  you  will  be  happy." 

Frank  Williams.  People  are  afraid  they  won't  get 
to  heaven  if  they  are  not  good. 


CEEDIT,  AND  OTHER  REWARDS  OF  MERIT.       21 

Dr.  Dix.  And  what  do  you  think  of  such  motives, 
unmixed  with  others  ? 

Isahelle  Anthony.     I  think  they  are  purely  selfish. 

Dr.  Dix.  Do  you  think  they  are  entitled  to  much  of 
the  credit  we  are  speaking  of  ? 

Isabelle  Anthony.     No,  sir. 

Dr.  Dix.  Suppose  no  such  rewards  were  offered,  — 
suppose  —  if  such  a  thing  is  conceivable  —  that  virtue 
did  not  gain  the  approval  of  our  fellow-men  or  lead 
to  happiness,  what  do  you  think  the  effect  would  be  on 
general  human  character  ? 

Jatie  Simpson.     There  would  n't  be  much  good  done. 

Thomas  Dunn.  I  do  not  think  there  would  be  any 
good  at  all. 

Dr.  Dix.  So  you  think  all  good  acts  have  at  bottom 
some  selfish  motive  ? 

Thomas  Dunn.     It  seems  to  me  that  it  must  be  so. 

Dr.  Dix.  Do  you  think  the  Good  Samaritan  was 
selfish  ? 

Thomas  Dunn.  He  might  have  been  purely  so.  He 
could  n't  help  pitying  the  man  he  saw  suffering.  Pity 
is  no  more  truly  an  act  of  the  will,  I  suppose,  than  sur- 
prise, or  fright,  or  any  other  sudden  emotion.  His  pity 
caused  him  a  kind  of  suffering,  and  he  took  the  most 
direct  and  effectual  way  of  relieving  it. 

Dr.  Dix.     And  so  he  was  entitled  to  no  credit  ? 

Thomas  Dunn.  I  don't  say  that.  I  only  say  that 
his  good  act  might  have  been  purely  selfish.  If  my 
head  aches,  I  try  to  relieve  it.  I  do  the  same  when  my 
heart  aches. 

Besides,  he  might  have  heard  of  its  being  ''  more 
blessed  to  give  than  to  receive,"  and  he  might  have  been 
business-like  enough  to  do  that  which  would  secure  to 
himself  the  greater  blessing. 

Julia  Taylor  [indignantly'].  I  don't  believe  it  pos- 
sible for  him  to  have  had  any  such  sordid  thoughts.  I 
don't  believe  the  most  remote  thought  of  himself  or  of 


22  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

rewards  of  any  kind  entered  his  noble  heart.  I  believe 
his  act  was  one  of  the  purest  and  most  unselfish  benev- 
olence. 

Dr.  Dlx.  Miss  Taylor's  supposition  is  at  least  as 
reasonable  as  yours,  Dunn.  I  had  no  idea  you  were  such 
a  cynic. 

Thomas  Dunn.  You  invited  us  to  express  our  views 
without  restraint. 

Dr.  Dlx.  Certainly.  I  am  not  reproaching  you  for 
expressing  your  views  ;  I  am  only  surprised  that  such 
fully  developed  cynicism  should  come  from  such  young 
lips. 

Thomas  Dunn.  I  merely  repeated  what  I  have  heard 
from  older  lips.  But  I  only  said  what  might  be  pos- 
sible. 

Dr.  Dix  [more  graciously'].  But  what  in  your  heart 
you  felt  is  not  probable.  That  is  not  the  way  you 
ordinarily  judge  your  fellow-beings.  Only  those  with- 
out virtue  themselves  disbelieve  in  its  existence  in 
others ;  only  those  without  benevolence  themselves  be- 
lieve others  destitute  of  that  virtue. 

Thomas  Dunti.  But  the  Good  Samaritan  was  not 
one  of  my  fellow-beings  ;  he  was  only  an  imaginary 
character,  after  all. 

Dr.  Dix.  He  stands  for  the  good  heart  of  all  man- 
kind. In  maligning  him,  you  malign  your  race.  Don't 
lose  your  faith  in  human  nature,  Dunn.  It  would  be 
one  of  the  greatest  losses  you  could  suffer.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  selfish  motives  actuate  a  great  amount  of  the 
good  that  is  done  in  the  world ;  but,  thank  heaven,  not 
all,  nor  nearly  all.  The  mother  thinks  only  of  her  be- 
loved child  in  danger.  She  thinks  no  more  of  herself 
than  the  planet  thinks  of  itself  as  it  wheels  unswerv- 
ingly in  its  celestial  orbit.  The  hero  who  clings  to  the 
lever  of  his  engine  as  it  hurries  him  on  to  his  death 
thinks  only  of  the  hundreds  of  precious  lives  entrusted 
to  his  care.     He   has   no   time  to  think   of  the   glory 


CREDIT,  AND  OTHER  REWARDS  OF  MERIT.      23 

which  his  eyes  shall  never  see,  or  of  the  fame  of  which 
his  ears  shall  never  hear.  Napoleon's  soldiers  may 
have  thought  of  la  gloire,  as  they  marched  on  to  their 
^atal  Lodi ;  but  it  was  not  that  alone  which  led  them 
on:  there  was  besides  the  irresistible  impulse  to  do 
their  duty  because  it  was  thtir  duty. 


V. 

GOOD  BOYS  AND  "FUN." 

Dr.  Dix.  The  other  morning  I  said  that  I  took  it  for 
granted,  that  all  here  feel  a  sincere  desire  to  improve  in 
character.  Now,  I  am  a  pretty  fair  reader  of  counte- 
nances, and  I  must  confess  that  I  noticed  what  seemed 
to  me  a  hesitating  look  here  and  there.  I  will  not  ask 
any  one  to  speak  for  himself ;  but  I  wish  some  of  you 
would  express  what  you  suppose  may  possibly  be  the 
feeling  of  others. 

James  Murphy:  Please,  sir,  good  boys  don't  amount 
to  anything  out  of  school  hou.rs.     \_Laughter.~\ 

Dr.  Dix  [^graciously'].  Thank  you,  Murphy,  for  your 
free  expression  of  opinion.  I  ha,ve  urged  you  to  express 
your  views  without  restraint,  and  I  am  glad  that  one, 
at  least,  has  shown  his  willingness  to  do  so.  If  what 
Murphy  says  is  true,  I  confess  it  is  a  new  fact  to  me. 
Now,  will  you  please  be  a  little  more  definite.  What 
do  bad  boys  "  amount  to  "  out  of  school  hours  more  than 
good  boys  ? 

James  Murphy.  Why,  sir,  good  boys  are  afraid  of  a 
little  fun,  and  —  and  —  they  don't  know  how  to  have 
any  fun,  any  way. 

Edward  Williams.    They  are  n't  so  smart  as  bad  boj^s. 

Richard  Jones.  It 'sail  well  enough  for  yirls  to  be 
good  ;  but  with  hoys  it  is  different. 

Sally  Jones  [with  jealous  indignation].  Girls  are  just 
as  bad  and  smart  as  boys  are  !  [Loud  laughter,  in  which 
the  Doctor  himself  joins.] 

Dr.  Dix.  Our  young  friends  of  the  Sixth  Class  show 
a  spirit  of  competition  worthy  of  a  better  cause,  which, 


GOOD  BOYS  AND  -'FUN:'  25 

whether  it  be  so  candidly  expressed  in  words  or  not, 
unfortunately  prevails  among  many  of  larger  growth. 
I  trust  they  have  not  expressed  the  actual  public  senti- 
ment of  Room  No.  6.  At  all  events,  they  have  furnished 
us  with  a  subject  for  our  Talk  this  morning. 

"  Good  boys  donH  amount  to  anything  out  of  school 
hours"  because  "  they  are  afraid  of  a  little  funP 

Kow,  whether  that  is  a  fact  to  be  lamented  or  not  de- 
pends on  what  you  mean  by  "  fun."  If  you  mean  mali- 
cious mischief,  the  inflicting  of  injury  or  annoyance  upon 
others  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure  it  may  afford  to  the 
perpetrators,  or  if  you  mean  indulgence  in  immoral  or 
injurious  pleasures,  then  I  must  admit  that  you  are 
perfectly  right  when  you  say  that  good  boys  and  girls 
are  afraid  of  it.  But  is  such  fear  a  thing  to  be  ashamed 
of  ?  There  are  tAvo  kinds  of  fear,  that  of  the  coward, 
and  that  of  the  hero.  The  bravest  soldier  is  mortally 
afraid  of  one  thing — disgrace.  The  noblest  soul  shrinks 
in  terror  from  dishonor. 

Without  this  kind  of  fear  the  highest  kind  of  cour- 
age cannot  exist.  The  man  that  boasts  that  he  is  not 
afraid  of  anybody  or  anything  is  most  likely  to  be  an 
arrant  coward  at  heart.  Everybody  is,  by  this  time, 
familiar  with  the  story  of  the  New  York  regiment  re- 
cruited from  the  worst  criminals  and  "  toughs,"  —  how 
it  was  confidently  expected  that  they  would  show  at 
least  one  virtue,  that  of  desperate  courage,  and  how, 
to  everybody's  amazement,  —  no,  not  everybody's,  for 
there  were  some  that  already  understood  the  true  rela- 
tion between  manhood  and  vice,  —  they  proved  as  ut- 
terly worthless  on  the  battlefield  as  in  the  camp,  show- 
ing that  the  only  danger  they  were  not  afraid  of  Avas 
that  of  shame  and  disgrace.  One  of  the  most  valuable 
lessons  our  great  war  taught  was,  that  the  best  men  make 
the  best  and  the  bravest  soldiers.  He  that  is  truest  to 
his  duty  in  peace  will  be  the  most  certain  to  be  true  to 
his  flag  in  war.     So  much  for  the  good  boy's  fear. 


26  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

"  Good  hoys  donH  know  how  to  have  fun,  any  %oayP 

Assuming  for  the  present  that  the  word  fun  has  been 
correctly  defined,  I  think  you  will  all  agree  with  me 
that  it  would  be  a  most  blessed  thing  for  the  world  if 
all  knowledge  of  it  were  forever  lost.  There  are  some 
kinds  of  knowledge  which  are  a  terrible  loss  rather  than 
a  gain.  Many  and  many  a  youth  knows  altogether  too 
much  of  certain  things,  and  not  enough  of  others,  for 
his  own  happiness  and  good. 

There  is  a  kind  of  ''  fun  "  that  is  anything  but  funny 
in  its  results,  a  kind  that  brings  far  more  tears  than 
laughter.  This  is  the  kind  that  the  good  boy  neither 
knows  nor  wishes  to  know  how  to  have. 

"  Good  boys  are  not  so  '■  smart '  as  bad  boys." 

I  presume  that  "  smart "  is  here  to  be  taken  in  its 
American  sense,  as  meaning  clever,  able,  energetic.  If 
so,  I  confess  that  the  idea  expressed  is  a  novel  one  to 
me.  Does  it  require  more  cleverness,  ability,  energy, 
to  do  wrong  than  to  do  right  ?  Most  people  find  it 
quite  the  reverse.  Which  is  easier,  to  give  a  wrong 
solution  of  a  mathematical  problem  or  the  right  one  ? 
Any  one  can  answer  a  difficult  question  wrongly  ;  only 
the  "  smart "  ones  can  answer  it  correctly.  It  is  the 
same  in  the  moral  as  in  the  intellectual  field;  to  do 
right  requires  efEort,  power ;  to  do  wrong  generally  re- 
quires neither. 

Joseph  Cracklin.  I  have  heard  my  father  say  that  a 
rascal  will  work  harder  to  steal  a  dollar  than  an  honest 
man  will  to  earn  ten. 

Dr.  Dix.  A  very  wise  and  true  saying  it  is,  too.  But 
the  effort  I  am  speaking  of  now  is  the  effort  of  power, 
cleverness,  ability,  energy  —  not  the  effort  of  weakness 
and  folly.  The  making  of  great  efforts  does  not  neces- 
sarily indicate  power.  A  fool  will  work  harder  to  ac- 
complish nothing  than  a  wise  man  will  to  build  a  ship. 
Then,  again,  some  kinds  of  effort,  desperate  as  they  may 
seem,  are  much  easier  to  make  than  others.    Your  rascal 


GOOD  BOYS  AND   ''FUN:'  27 

would  find  it  harder  to  make  up  his  mind  to  honestly 
earn  one  of  the  honest  man's  ten  dollars  than  to  work 
day  and  night  to  steal  a  hundred. 

No,  it  is  not  true  that  evil  requires  more  power  than 
good.  Men  are  wicked  because  it  is  easier  to  be  wicked 
than  it  is  to  be  good.  Like  the  lightning,  they  follow 
the  path  of  least  resistance. 

Susaii  Perkins.  "The  way  of  the  transgressor,"  I 
have  always  been  told,  "  is  hard.'''' 

Dr.  Dix.     Ah,  that  comes  later. 

Julia  Taylor.  Don't  we  often  hear  it  said  in  praise  of 
certain  good  people,  that  they  find  it  easier  to  do  right 
than  wrong,  —  that  it  comes  more  natural  to  them  ? 

Dr.  Dix. '  I  am  glad  you  asked  the  question,  for  it 
suggests  the  most  striking  and  admirable  characteristic 
of  all  kinds  of  power,  moral  as  well  as  intellectual  and 
physical  —  the  ease  with  which  it  accomplishes  its  re- 
sults. The  athlete  does  without  apparent  effort  what 
might  be  an  impossibility  for  the  ordinary  man.  The 
genius  dashes  off  in  an  hour  a  poem  that  we  common 
mortals  could  not  produce  in  a  lifetime  of  effort.  How 
have  these  good  people  you  speak  of  attained  their 
power  for  good  ?  By  long-continued  perseverance  in  the 
paths  of  virtue.  That  which  you  say  "  comes  natural  " 
to  them  is  simply  the  second  nature  of  habit. 

Jane  Simpson.  Is  all  virtue  only  second  nature  ? 
Are  there-  not  some  people  who  seem  to  have  been 
born  good  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Certainly  some  people  inherit  better  natures 
than  others,  just  as  some  inherit  more  vigorous  bodies 
and  keener  intellects.  We  are  not  all  favored  alike. 
The  point  I  am  urging  is,  that  good  requires  more  power 
than  evil ;  whether  inherited  or  acquired  is  not  now  the 
question.  This  power  may  be  inherited  in  vastly  differ- 
ent degrees  by  different  individuals  ;  but  one  great  truth 
I  want  to  impress  upon  you:  Every  virtuous  life  that 
has  ever  been  lived  has  been  a  life  of  persistent  effort. 


VI. 

VIRTUE  IS  STRENGTH:   VICE  IS  WEAKNESS. 

Dr.  Dix.  Every  virtuous  life  that  has  ever  been  lived 
has  been  a  life  of  persistent  effort. 

Let  no  one  palliate  his  own  self-indulgence  and  belit- 
tle another's  self-denial  by  saying,  "  It  is  easy  for  him 
to  be  good,  he  could  n't  be  bad  if  he  tried."  Vice  per 
se  is  always  easier  than  virtue.  The  apparent  excep- 
tion I  have  already  explained.  If  there  are  those  of 
such  exalted  virtue  that  it  seems  well-nigh  impossible 
for  them  to  go  wrong,  it  is  because  of  their  strength. 
Their  inability  is  like  that  of  the  athlete  who  cannot 
act  the  invalid,  the  giant  who  cannot  be  a  pygmy.  I 
say  again,  vice  per  se  is  always  easier  than  virtue  :  self- 
indulgence  is  always  easier  than  self-denial ;  to  resist 
temptation  is  always  more  difficult  than  to  yield  ;  to  ut- 
ter the  angry  word  or  strike  the  angry  blow  requires 
far  less  power  than  to  restrain  the  tongue  or  withhold 
the  hand. 

Joseph  Cracklin  \_pertly,  looking  about  for  applaxise"]. 
Some  men  have  found  out  that  there  was  considerable 
power  in  one  of  Sullivan's  angry  blows.  [Laughter, 
more  or  less  restrained. 1 

Dr.  Dix  [with  cold  displeasure~\.  We  have  been 
speaking  of  "  smartness,"  and  we  have  thus  far  used  the 
word  in  its  colloquial  sense.  When  correctly  used,  how- 
ever, it  has  for  one  of  its  meanings  shallow  aggressive- 
ness of  speech  or  manner,  with  the  added  notion  of  im- 
pertinence. I  think  your  attempted  witticism,  Cracklin, 
and  more  particularly  your  manner  of  making  it,  was  a 
very  good  illustration  of  that  kind  of  smartness.    It  was 


VIRTUE  IS  STRENGTH:   VICE  IS   WEAKNESS.    29 

shallow,  because  it  betrayed  a  total  failure  to  compre- 
hend the  subject  we  were  discussing ;  and,  in  fact,  had 
not  the  slightest  bearing  upon  it.  We  were  speaking 
of  a  power  far  greater  than  that  of  a  puny  arm  of  flesh 
and  bone,  even  that  of  the  notorious  bully  you  named. 
It  was  impertinent,  that  is,  not  pertinent,  for  the  same 
reason.  It  was  aggressive  —  not  in  respectfully  ex- 
pressing honest  dissent,  which  would  have  been  proper 
and  welcome  —  but  in  interrupting  our  discussion,  for 
the  mere  sake  of  displaying  your  wit. 

Josejih  CracMin.     I  beg  your  pardon. 

Dr.  Dix.  That  is  ''  smart "  in  the  colloquial  sense, 
Cracklin.  It  is  right,  and  therefore  strong.  The  other 
was  wrong  and  therefore  weak.  We  will  let  the  one 
offset  the  other.  And  now  let  us  return  from  the  di- 
gression. 

Virtue  is  a  constant  resistance  to  force,  which  tends 
to  draw  the  soul  to  its  ri^in ;  vice  is  the  simple,  passive 
yielding  to  that  force.  The  universal  experience  of 
mankind  has  led  to  the  comparison  of  virtue  to  an  as- 
cent hard  to  climb,  and  of  vice  to  a  descent  down  which 
it  is  easy  to  sink.  What  does  Virgil  say  on  this  sub- 
ject, Miss  Perkins  ? 

Susan  Perkins.  "  Facilis  descensus  Averno  ;  sed  re- 
vocare  gradum,  —  hoc  opus,  hie  labor  est."  ^ 

Jonathan  Tower.  But  simply  because  virtue  is  a 
climbing  and  vice  a  sinking,  I  don't  see  how  it  follows 
that  the  good  are  necessarily  cleverer  or  more  power- 
ful. I  happen  to  know  some  clever  people  who  are  not 
regarded  as  very  good,  and  I  also  know  some  very  good! 
people  who  seem  to  me  rather  weak  than  strong. 

Dr.  Dix.  You  have  evidently  misunderstood  me. 
Perhaps  you  thought  I  was  speaking  of  persons,  when, 
in  reality,  I  was  speaking  of  actions. 

Jonathan  Toiver.     Pardon  me.  Dr.  Dix,  I  have  sup- 

^  The  descent  to  Avernus  is  easy ;  but  to  return,  —  this  is  the  diffi- 
culty, this  the  task. 


30  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

posed  from  the  beginning  that  the  subject  was  one  of 
persons.  I  thought  the  very  question  we  were  dis- 
cussing was,  whether,  as  Williams  expressed  it,  "  bad 
boys  are  smarter  than  good  boys." 

Dr.  Dix.  Not  precisely.  Virtue  and  vice  is  the  sub- 
ject we  are  discussing.  I  asked  at  the  outset  whether 
it  requires  more  power  or  cleverness  to  do  wrong  than 
to  do  right,  and  Virgil's  famous  epigram,  quoted  just 
before  you  spoke,  treats  of  actions,  not  of  persons. 

Jonathan  Toiver.  I  cannot  understand  the  essential 
difference  between  speaking  of  actions  and  speaking  of 
actors.     Does  not  either  word  imply  the  other  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  There  is  a  very  essential  difference,  my 
boy,  between  speaking  of  an  action  and  speaking  of  the 
actor.  Though,  as  you  say,  one  implies  the  other,  yet 
I  should  not  necessarily  pronounce  one  good  or  bad, 
weak  or  strong,  because  the  other  is.  We  are  told  that 
one  may  hate  sin,  but  love  the  sinner.  Wise  people 
very  often  do  foolish  things,  and  foolish  people,  wise 
ones.  So,  though  I  may  say  with  perfect  truth  that  all 
evil  is  weakness  and  folly,  and  that  all  good  is  strength 
and  wisdom,  I  could  not  say  with  truth  that  all  good 
men  are  in  all  respects  strong  and  wise,  or  that  all 
bad  men  are  in  all  respects  weak  and  foolish.  History 
is  full  of  famous  wicked  men,  and  we  all  know  plenty 
of  good  souls,  strong  and  wise  only  in  their  goodness. 

In  general,  however,  it  is  fair  to  presume  that  among 
the  doers  of  wise  things  there  are  more  wise  men  than 
among  the  doers  of  foolish  things,  and  vice  versa.  Prom 
this  presumption  alone  I  should  feel  perfectly  safe  in 
declaring  that  by  far  the  larger  share  of  the  world's  in- 
tellect and  power  is  arrayed  on  the  side  of  virtue.  And 
when  we  look  abroad  we  find  that  universal  testimony 
confirms  the  deduction.  The  most  intelligent  and  pow- 
erful nations  are,  on  the  whole,  the  most  virtuous. 

Charles  Fox.  I  have  read  that  criminals  are,  as  a 
class,  men  of  a  very  low  order  of  intellect. 


VIRTUE  IS  STRENGTH.    VICE  IS  WEAKNESS.     31 

Dr.  Dlx.  A  state  prison  warden  of  many  years'  ex- 
perience once  told  me  that  the  most  intellectual  prisoner 
that  had  ever  been  under  his  charge  was  distinguished, 
not  for  any  special  breadth  or  depth  of  mental  power, 
but  simply  for  an  intense  keenness  of  cunning,  which 
operated  in  the  narrow  circle  of  first  defrauding  his 
victims,  and  then  attempting  to  outwit  his  keeperSc 
Considered  by  itself,  there  is  a  wonderful  amount  of  in- 
genuity displayed  in  the  invention  of  instruments  and 
other  aids  to  the  commission  of  crime ;  but  how  utterly 
insignificant  it  appears,  both  in  quantity  and  quality, 
when  compared  with  that  employed  for  the  benefit  of 
mankind  ! 

Of  course,  the  single  instance  mentioned  by  the 
warden  would  not  prove  a  universal  rule  ;  but  it  is  safe 
to  say  that  there  is  some  fatal  deficiency  in  the  intel- 
lectual as  well  as  in  the  moral  make-up  of  every  thor- 
oughly bad  man. 

In  the  conflict  between  good  and  evil  that  is  ever  in 
progress,  it  is  a  most  fortunate  thing  for  us  all  that  the 
enormous  preponderance  of  intellect  and  power  is  on  the 
side  of  good.  It  is  to  this  that  we  owe  the  practically 
perfect  safety  with  which  we  go  unarmed  and  unattended 
from  ocean  to  ocean.  The  bad  are  everywhere,  and  fain 
would  make  us  their  victims  ;  but  the  strong  right  arm 
and  the  vigilant  eye  of  justice-loving  humanity  are  ever 
about  us,  and  with  so  mighty  a  champion,  we  look 
upon  evil  lurking  in  its  dark  caves  and  feel  no  fear. 

Archibald  Watson.  Men  are  robbed  and  murdered 
sometimes. 

Dr.  Dlx.  Alas,  yes.  We  rarely  take  up  a  newspaper 
without  seeing  accounts  of  thefts,  robberies,  and  mur- 
derous outrages.  It  is  not  that  evil  is  not  mighty  and 
prevalent,  but  that  good  is  vastly  more  mighty  and 
vastly  more  prevalent.  So  great  is  the  difference  that, 
as  I  said,  we  have  practically  no  fears  for  ourselves  or 
for  our  friends.     So  little,  as  a  rule,  do  we  actually 


32  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

suffer  of  wrong  from  our  fellow-men,  so  little  do  we 
suffer  from  the  combined  efforts  of  all  the  intellect  and 
power  of  the  wicked,  that,  in  order  to  complain  at  all, 
we  pour  out  our  bitter  bewailings  upon  some  petty 
three-penny  tax  or  other  that  we  feel  to  be  unjust ! 
Think  of  it,  scholars  !  Think  what  might  be  the  con- 
dition of  the  world  to-day  if  evil  were  actually  more 
clever  and  strong  than  good  !  What  would  become  of 
our  asylums,  hospitals,  and  life-saving  stations  ;  our 
schools,  churches,  and  libraries  ?  What  would  become 
of  veneration  for  the  aged,  of  respect  and  homage  to 
woman,  and  of  the  almost  universal  value  placed  upon 
sacred  human  life  ?  In  short,  what  would  become  of 
the  law  and  order,  national  and  international,  which 
protects  not  only  the  humblest  subject  or  citizen  in  his 
rights,  but  the  feeblest  state  in  its  independence  ? 

Frank  Williams.  Dr.  Dix,  when  I  said  that  good 
boys  were  not  so  smart  as  bad  boys,  I  was  n't  talking  of 
men,  I  was  talking  of  boys. 

Dr.  Dix.  And,  pray,  what  should  make  a  difference  ? 
The  proverb  says,  "  The  boy  is  father  of  the  man." 
Our  other  proverb,  "There  is  no  rule  without  excep- 
tions," applies  here,  of  course  ;  but  you  will  find  it  to 
be  generally  the  case  that  the  bad  men  of  to-day  are  the 
bad  boys  of  twenty  years  ago,  and  vice  versa. 


VII. 
MORE  ABOUT  GOOD  BOYS  AND  "FUN." 

Dr.  Dix.  One  of  the  specifications  in  the  recent 
indictment  of  the  typical  good  boy  was,  that  he  "  is 
afraid  of  a  little  fun,"  and  another  was  that  "  he  does  n't 
know  how  to  have  fun,  any  way." 

Defining  fun  as  malicious  mischief,  or  as  injurious 
pleasure,  we  admit  both  specifications,  with  no  palliat- 
ing circumstances. 

But  if  you  mean  by  fun  pure,  honest  enjoyment  of 
the  pleasures  so  lavishly  given  us  to  enjoy,  we  deny 
both  specifications. 

An  indispensable  requisite  to  the  highest  enjoyment 
is  a  healthy,  natural  condition  of  mind  and  body.  You 
have  all  heard  of  the  miserable  dyspeptic  who  finds  no 
pleasure  in  the  most  luxurious  table,  and  of  the  healthy 
hunger  which  finds  a  sweet  morsel  in  a  dry  crust.  The 
principle  applies  to  all  kinds  and  conditions  of  real 
enjoyment. 

Thomas  Dunn.  You  speak  of  real  enjoyment ;  do 
you  mean  to  imply  that  there  is  none  in  what  are  called 
forbidden  pleasures  —  that  wickedness  actually  renders 
men  incapable  of  real  enjoyment  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  I  mean  that  forbidden  pleasures  always 
entail  more  pain  in  the  end  than  pleasure.  So,  if  we 
strike  the  balance,  or  get  what  I  may  call  the  algebraic 
sum,  it  is  nothing  —  less  than  nothing.  I  mean  that 
every  sinful  indulgence  diminishes  the  power  of  enjoy- 
ing even  the  forbidden  pleasure  itself,  until  at  last  the 
power  of  enjoyment  of  the  good  or  the  bad  may  be 
utterly  lost. 


34  .CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

The  opium-eater  always  secures  the  greatest  effect 
from  his  first  dose,  because  his  nerve-sj'stem  is  then  in 
its  most  vigorous  condition,  and  therefore  most  capable 
of  responding  to  the  stimulant.  His  next  dose  must  be 
larger  to  produce  an  equal  effect  upon  his  impaired 
susceptibility. 

Thomas  Dunn.  You  are  speaking  now  of  an  indul- 
gence which  we  all  know  to  be  injurious.  Are  there 
not  immoral  indulgences  which  are  not  necessarily  inju- 
rious, —  that  is,  I  mean,  to  the  health  ? 

Dr.  Dix.     Do  you  know  of  any  such  ? 

Thomas  Dunn.  I  know  a  good  many  that  are  called 
immoral,  —  going  to  the  theatre,  for  instance,  or  dancing. 

Dr.  Dix.  I  cannot  see  how  anything  that  is  not  inju- 
rioiis  to  the  mind,  body,  or  heart  can  be  immoral.  If 
drinking  wine  and  smoking  cigarettes  were  not  injuri- 
ous, they  would  not  be  sinful ;  if  malicious  pranks  upon 
our  fellow-pupils  were  not  injurious,  both  to  them  and 
much  more  so  to  ourselves,  —  for  health  of  body  is  not 
the  only  or  the  most  important  kind  of  health,  —  they 
would  not  be  forbidden  pleasures. 

Henry  Phillips.  You  just  remarked,  Dr.  Dix,  that 
health  of  body  is  not  the  most  important  kind  of 
health. 

Dr.  Dix.     I  did. 

Henrxj  Thillips.  Is  not  health  of  body  the  foundation 
of  mental  and  moral  health  ?  and  is  not  the  foundation 
of  anything  the  most  important  part  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  The  foundation  is  a  necessary  part,  but  not 
the  most  important.  That  which  rests  on  the  founda- 
tion, that  for  the  sake  of  which  the  foundation  exists,  is 
the  most  important.  As  to  whether  physical  health  is 
the  foundation  of  mental  and  moral  health,  we  say,  on 
general  principles,  that  if  one  member  of  an  organism 
suffers  all  will  suffer.  The  mind  suffers  with  the  body, 
the  body  with  the  mind,  and,  if  the  law  is  true,  the 
heart  must  suffer  with  both. 


MORE  ABOUT  GOOD  BOYS  AND  ''FUN."        35 

Louisa  Thomjyson.  It  does  not  seem  to  me  that  the 
law  can  be  true.  Have  not  some  of  the  most  famous 
minds  been  found  in  inferior,  weakly,  and  diseased 
bodies,  from  old  ^sop  down  to  George  Eliot  ? 

Julia  Taylor.  And  do  we  not  often  hear  of  poor 
suffering  invalids  who  show  the  best  and  noblest  hearts  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes,  all  that  is  true.  Still  such  apparent 
exceptions  neither  prove  nor  disprove  the  law.  It  can 
never  be  known  whether  those  famous  intellects  were 
really  strengthened  or  brightened  by  physical  defects 
and  sufferiiigs.  Disease  often  stimulates  the  faculties 
to  abnormal  but  short-lived  brilliancy ;  but  is  that  real 
strength  ?  We  do  not  look  upon  the  maniacal  strength 
which  fever  sometimes  gives  as  real  strength ;  cer- 
tainly not  as  we  look  upon  the  substantial  and  enduring 
strength  of  health.  Some  physiologists  regard  that 
which  we  call  genius  as  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a 
form  of  brain  disease. 

If  only  the  physically  feeble  were  intellectually  and 
morally  strong,  the  case  Avould  be  different ;  but  the 
truth  is,  that  the  majority  of  the  world's  leaders  in 
great  moral  reforms  as  well  as  in  intellectual  achieve- 
ments have  been  blessed  with  bodily  health  and  vigor, 
have  had  the  viens  sana  in  corpore  sano.^ 

As  to  the  saintly  invalids  of  whom  Miss  Taylor  spoke, 
we  have  all  known  of  them ;  of  all  mankind  they  are 
most  deserving  of  love,  tender  sympathy,  and  admira- 
tion :  they  prove  to  us  that  disease  may  exert  a  most 
benign  influence  upon  men,  that  ''as  gold  is  tried  by 
fire,  so  the  heart  is  tried  by  pain  :  "  they  show  us  what 
lessons  of  heroic  patience  and  sweet  resignation  may  be 
learned  by  physical  suffering.  Yet  who  knows  that  the 
hearts  even  of  these  sainted  sufferers  might  not  have 
throbbed  with  still  stronger  love  if  the  blood  that  vital- 
ized them  had  been  richer  and  warmer  ? 

Do  not,  I  pray  yon,  misunderstand  me.     For  no  con- 

^  A  sound  mind  in  a  sound  body. 


36  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

sideration  would  I  disparage  the  merits  of  any  of  my 
fellow-men,  —  least  of  all  those  who  most  deserve  our 
sympathy  and  appreciation  ;  nay,  our  emulation.  It  is 
their  fate  to  suffer  rather  than  to  do,  and  to  suffer  with 
godlike  patience  and  fortitude  is  even  nobler  than  to 
achieve  with  godlike  power ;  in  its  influence  upon 
other  hearts  and  lives,  even  its  achievements  may  be 
more  beneficent. 

But,  though  disease  may  sometimes  exert  a  most  holy 
influence,  it  is  not  only  never  to  be  sought,  but  it  is 
always  to  be  avoided  by  every  means  in  our  power,  — 
except  the  violation  of  a  higher  duty.  Body,  mind, 
and  heart  are  all  stronger,  better  qualified  to  do  their 
duty,  in  health  than  in  disease. 

And,  to  return  to  the  subject  with  which  we  began 
this  morning's  Talk,  one  of  our  duties  is  to  enjoy.  We 
exist  not  only  to  make  others  happy,  but  to  be  happy 
ourselves.     Both  happiness  and  misery  are  contagious. 

Other  things  being  equal,  our  happiness  is  in  propor- 
tion to  our  health ;  and  again,  other  things  being  equal, 
our  health  is  in  proportion  to  our  goodness,  —  that  is, 
as  I  have  already  shown,  in  proportion  as  we  obey  the 
laws  of  our  being. 

Jonathan  Tower.  Dr.  Dix,  what  do  you  mean  by 
''  other  things  being  equal "  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  By  other  things,  I  mean  in  the  one  case 
character  and  external  circumstances,  and  in  the  other 
natural  coyistitution  and  external  circumstances.  Thus, 
the  bedridden  invalid  may  sing  with  joy,  while  the  vig- 
orous criminal  who  never  suffered  a  day's  illness  endures 
mental  tortures  that  only  he  and  such  as  he  knows ;  or 
while  the  mother,  herself  in  perfect  health  perhaps, 
is  weeping  for  her  children,  and  will  not  be  comforted 
because  they  are  not.  Thus  also  one  with  inherited  dis- 
ease, or  one  placed  in  circumstances  beyond  his  control, 
or  one  heroically  discharging  his  duty,  may  to  the  very  ■ 
best  of  his  ability  obey  the  laws  of  his  being,  and  yet 


MOEE  ABOUT  GOOD  BOYS  AND  ''FUN.''         37 

be  sick  unto  death ;  while  another  who  cares  little  for 
law  or  duty  may  live  on  in  comparative  health. 

But,  "  other  things  being  equal,"  both  health  and  hap- 
piness are  in  exact  proportion  to  goodness. 

"  The  good  hoy  does  nH  know  how  to  have  fun  "  ?  I  tell 
you  he  is  the  only  one  who  does  know  how  to  have  it. 
Compare  his  cheek  ruddy,  his  eye  bright,  his  laugh  loud 
and  ringing,  his  pulses  bounding,  from  his  faithful  obe- 
dience to  nature's  laws  ;  his  brow  open  and  unclouded, 
his  heart  loving,  light,  and  hopeful,  from  his  obedience 
to  the  law  of  right,  —  compare  these  with  the  cheek 
pallid,  the  eye  listless,  the  blood  vitiated  and  sluggish, 
from  nature's  laws  violated ;  the  heart  heavy,  filled  with 
dull,  aching  discontent,  from  the  ever-living  sense  of 
wrongs  done  in  the  past  and  unrepented  in  the  present, 
■ — compare  all  these,  I  say,  and  then  judge  who  it  is 
that  "  knows  how  to  have  fun." 


VIII. 
CLEVERNESS  AND  COURAGE. 

Helen  Sawyer.  Dr.  Dix,  I  think  we  are  all  convinced 
that  in  realitij  the  intelligence,  power,  and  courage  of 
the  world  are  on  the  side  of  virtue  rather  than  vice ; 
and  yet  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  very  common  for  even 
older  people  than  we  are  to  look  upon  good  people  as 
rather  slow  and  uninteresting,  and  upon  bad  people  — 
at  least  somewhat  bad  people  —  as  —  as  — 

Dr.  Dix.     As  fast  and  interesting  ? 

Helen  Saivyer.  As  more  clever,  and  enterprising,  and 
courageous,  and  all  that. 

Dr.  Dix.  Among  many  unthinking  people  no  doubt 
such  an  impression  prevails,  —  only,  however,  among 
those  who  know  very  little  of  what  real  goodness  is. 
If  there  is  any  cause  for  it,  aside  from  perversity  of 
heart  and  judgment,  it  must  consist  in  certain  advan- 
tages which  the  unscrupulous  possess  over  those  who 
are  restrained  by  their  sense  of  right  and  wrong.  To 
illustrate :  Witty  things  may  be  said  on  certain  occa- 
sions which  would  be  wrong  on  account  of  their  unkind- 
ness,  irreverence,  impropriety,  or  perhaps  their  profan- 
ity. A  good  man  Avould  not  say  them  even  if  they  came 
unbidden  into  his  mind  ;  a  bad  man  would.  There  are 
persons  who  cannot  be  witty  or  brilliant  without  being 
at  the  same  time  cruel,  immodest,  or  profane,  A  very 
cheap  kind  of  wit  and  brilliancy,  is  it  not  ? 

Again,  keen,  shrewd,  brilliant  acts  may  be  performed 
which  would  be  wrong  on  account  of  their  unkindness 
or  positive  dishonesty.  A  good  man  would  not  perform 
them,  not  because  he  lacks  the  shrewdness  or  the  bril- 


CLEVERNESS  AND   COURAGE.  39 

liancy,  —  he  may  possess  these  qualities  or  he  may  not ; 
a  bad  man  would  not  hesitate,  if  he  thought  of  them, 
and  thus  he  might  gain  a  reputation  for  "  smartness  " 
and  enterprise  which  his  honest,  honorable  neighbor 
must  needs  forego.  Scholars,  do  you  know  any  such 
clever  men  in  public  or  in  private  life  ?  Do  you  envy 
the  reputation  they  have  gained  ?  How  do  you  sup- 
pose they  are  regarded  in  the  secret  hearts  even  of  those 
who  profess  to  admire  them  ?  With  contempt,  —  yes, 
even  by  those  who  applaud  the  loudest.  Many  and  many 
a  time  I  have  seen  men  laughing  at  the  wicked  drollery 
or  cunning  of  some  smart  buffoon  or  scapegrace.  Did 
he  fondly  imagine  that  he  was  winning  their  real  ad- 
miration ?  Perhaps  he  did  not  care,  so  long  as  he  won 
their  noisy  applause ;  but  the  fact  is,  there  was  not  one 
of  them  who  did  not  despise  him  in  his  inmost  heart, 
not  one  of  them  who  Avould  not  feel  degraded  by  hav- 
ing him  at  his  own  table  or  fireside. 

Archibald  Watson.  Those  of  his  own  kind  would  n't 
feel  so,  would  they  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  I  believe  that  even  those  of  his  own  kind, 
congenial  spirits,  would,  way  down  deep,  feel  a  contempt 
for  him,  as  well  as  for  themselves  for  being  of  his  kind. 
There  is  implanted  somewhere  in  every  human  heart 
an  unconquerable  contempt  for  evil  and  admiration  for 
good.  Few  men  are  so  abandoned  that  they  do  not 
honestly  wish  their  children  to  follow  a  path  different 
from  their  own.  There  are  times  in  the  lives  of  all  bad 
men  when  this  inner  sense  awakens,  and  they  feel  the 
impulse  to  escape  from  their  degradation ;  to  be  some- 
thing like  the  good  and  the  noble,  whom  they  cannot 
but  admire.  In  this  inner  sense,  which,  I  believe,  never 
utterly  dies,  lies  the  germ  of  hope  for  every  living  soul. 

For  a  reason  similar  to  that  I  have  given,  another 
common  impression  among  the  unthinking  is  that  the 
good  are  apt  to  be  wanting  in  hardy  courage.  A  bad 
man  will  fight  —  sometimes,  not  always  —  when  a  good 


40  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

man  will  not  simply  because  his  conscience  will  not  let 
him.  Fighting,  as  a  test  of  courage,  is  apt  to  be  greatly 
overestimated.  There  are  few  men,  either  good  or  bad, 
who  cannot  or  will  not  fight  on  occasion.  The  whole 
human  race  has  descended  from  a  fighting  ancestry. 
Every  war  has  demonstrated  this  fact ;  and  how  the 
best  compare  with  the  worst,  when  the  occasion  renders 
fighting  necessary  and  therefore  jvistifiable,  the  story  of 
the  New  York  regiment  to  which  I  have  already  alluded 
most  strikingly  illustrates.  When  fighting  is  neither 
necessary  nor  right,  it  generally  requires  more  real  cour- 
age to  resist  the  impulse  to  fight  than  to  yield  to  it, 
inasmuch  as  it  is  harder  for  most  men  to  endure  ridi- 
cule, the  suspicion  of  cowardice,  or  the  smarting  sense 
of  wrong  unavenged,  than  to  endure  physical  pain  and 
danger.  This  is  not  always  true,  of  course.  We  must 
admit  that  there  are  some  physical  cowards  who  refuse 
to  fight,  not  because  they  think  it  wrong,  but  because 
they  are  afraid  of  the  bullet,  or,  among  the  more  vul- 
gar, of  the  bloody  nose.  That  is  a  kind  of  peaceable- 
ness  which  is  not  goodness.  It  is  even  worse  than  the 
combativeness  of  the  wicked  man  ;  for  physical  courage 
is  a  virtue,  —  one  of  a  low  order,  it  is  true,  when  vmat- 
tended  by  other  virtues,  one  which  we  share  with  the 
brute  creation,  but  still  a  virtue,  —  whereas  cowardice, 
whether  physical  or  moral,  is  not  only  no  virtue,  but 
one  of  the  most  justly  despised  of  all  despicable  traits. 
If,  then,  there  is  a  boy  among  you  who,  on  being  in- 
sulted, refuses  to  fight,  before  you  stigmatize  him  as  a 
coward,  satisfy  yourselves  whi/  he  refuses.  If  it  is  be- 
cause it  is  against  his  conscience,  admire  him,  honor 
him,  crown  him  with  the  olive  wreath  of  a  victor ;  foi 
he  is  a  conqueror  of  the  most  heroic  type,  he  is  greater 
than  one  that  taketh  a  city.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  it 
is  certain  —  but  how  can  you  know  ?  —  that  it  is  onlj* 
because  he  is  afraid  of  a  black  eye  or  a  bloody  nose, 
why,  then  you  are  at  liberty  to  despise  him,  or  rathei 


CLEVERNESS  AND  COURAGE.  41 

his  cowardice,  a  little  more  even  than  you  despise  the 
cowardice  of  the  bully  who  insulted  him. 

Charles  Fox.  Why  do  you  say  cowardice  of  the  bully 
who  insulted  him  ? 

Dr.  Dlx.  Because  a  bully  is  almost  always  a  cow- 
ard. In  the  case  supposed  he  is  certain  to  be  one.  It 
requires  not  even  physical  courage  to  insult  one  who 
will  not  resent  the  insult. 

Now,  boys,  don't  look  so  complacently  warlike.  I 
have  not  been  pronouncing  or  even  hinting  a  eulogy 
upon  the  "  manly  art."  I  said  distinctly  that  the  good 
boy  will  not  fight  unless  he  is  absolutely  compelled ; 
but  it  is  n't  because  he  is  afraid  to  fight :  the  only  thing 
he  is  afraid  of  is  wrong.  And,  girls,  don't  look  so  indif- 
ferent and  uninterested.  There  are  more  ways  of  fight- 
ing than  with  the  fists  —  there  are  other  wounds  than 
those  of  the  body.  Good  people  are  generally  terribly  ^ 
shocked  at  a  desperate  set-to  between  two  fiery-tem- 
pered, brawny-armed  fellows,  their  eyes  glaring,  their 
breasts  heaving,  their  muscles  straining,  their  blood, 
perhaps,  flowing.  And  well  they  may  be  shocked,  —  it 
is  a  disgraceful  scene,  worthy  only  of  game-cocks  and 
b\ill-dogs,  a  scene  that  rational  beings  shovdd  be  ashamed 
of,  as  they  would  be  ashamed  of  wallowing  in  the  mud, 
grubbing  their  food  out  of  the  gutter,  or  of  any  other 
act  of  pure  bestiality.  But,  brutal  as  it  is,  and  disgust- 
ing to  all  persons  of  true  refinement,  there  are  other 
ways  of  fighting  that  do  not  bring  into  play  even  the 
virtues  of  brute  courage  and  fortitude,  ways  meaner 
and  more  contemptible,  if  less  brutish.  Better  be  bru- 
tish than  fiendish. 

Helen  Mar.     Are  those  the  ways  girls  fight  ? 

Dr.  Dix  [^joining  in  the  general  laughter^  Did  I 
seem  to  imply  that  ?  If  I  did,  I  most  sincerely  beg 
your  pardon.  Those  ways  of  fighting  are  not  confined 
to  any  sex,  class,  or  age.  I  am  happy  to  believe  we 
have  as  little  of  them  in  this  school  as  in  any  civilized 
community  of  equal  number. 


42  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

But  the  time  approaches  to  engage  in  an  entirely 
different  kind  of  contest,  one  neither  mean  nor  brutal, 
but  most  honorable  and  ennobling. 

Helen  Mar.  Before  the  tocsin  sounds  for  that  strug- 
gle, may  I  ask  whether  the  desire  for  victory,  which 
must  be  the  chief  motive  in  all  contests,  is  not  in  itself 
purely  selfish  ?  The  expressions  "  magnanimous  foe," 
"  generous  rivalry,"  and  the  like,  which  we  so  often, 
hear,  have  always  seemed  to  me  somewhat  paradoxical. 
Even  in  our  studies,  the  desire  to  stand  first  involves 
the  desire  that  some  one  else  shall  stand  second.  How 
can  that  justly  be  called  magnanimous  or  generous  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  The  question  does  you  great  credit,  Miss 
Mar.  But  we  are  none  of  us  accountable  for  the  pos- 
session or  lack  of  natural  endowments.  To  make  the 
best  use  of  those  we  possess  is  a  solemn  obligation  which 
must  be  evident  to  all.  If  we  outstrip  others  in  the  race, 
it  is  strong  presumptive  evidence  that  we  are  faithfully 
fulfilling  that  solemn  obligation,  and  we  are  justly  en- 
titled to  the  satisfaction  which  always  rewards  the 
performance  of  duty.  This  is  the  only  satisfaction  re- 
sulting from  victory  which  is  really  magnanimous  or 
generous.  If  we  desire  either  that  the  endowments  of 
others  shall  be  inferior  to  our  own,  or  that  they  shall 
neglect  them  for  the  sake  of  our  triumph,  we  are  not 
merely  selfish,  but  actually  malevolent. 

But  the  desire  to  do  something  better  than  has  yet 
been  done  is  neither  selfish  nor  malevolent.  It  is  grand, 
noble.  It  is  the  lever  which  has  lifted  the  race  of  men 
throughout  the  generations  of  the  past  to  higher  and 
higher  planes  of  being,  and  which  will  continue  to  lift 
them  throughout  the  generations  to  come. 


IX. 

THE  BATTLE. 

Dr.  Dix.  Scholars,  it  is  not  my  intention  to  appro- 
priate any  part  of  this  short  period  to  individual  dis- 
cipline. The  time  is  to  be  kept  sacred  to  the  purpose 
originally  announced.  One  of  the  most  effective  means, 
however,  of  accomplishing  that  purpose  is  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  passing  occurrences  in  school  life,  and  I 
shall  begin  with  the  very  unpleasant  occurrence  of  yes- 
terday. 

In  last  week's  Talk  I  hoped  I  had  impressed  you  all 
with  not  only  the  wickedness,  but  the  vulgarity  also, 
the  low  brutality,  of  pugilistic  encounters.  I  learn  this 
morning,  however,  that  after  school  yesterday  two  young 
men,  from  whom  I  had  every  reason  to  expect  better 
things,  committed  the  very  fault  I  had  so  recently  con- 
demned. \_Hisses,  which  the  Doctor's  raised  hand  in- 
stantly checks.'] 

I  can  account  for  the  unpleasant  circumstance  only 
in  one  of  two  ways :  Either  it  was  due  to  a  deliberate 
defiance  of  my  expressed  opinions  and  sentiments,  and 
in  deliberate  opposition  to  the  influence  I  was  trying  to 
exert  — 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Dr.  Dix,  I  beg  you  will  not  think 
that. 

Archibald  Watson.  And  I,  too,  Dr.  Dix.  I  assure 
you  it  was  not  so. 

Dr.  Dix.  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  so  much  from  you 
both.  The  only  other  supposition,  then,  I  can  enter- 
tain is,  that  our  Talk  suggested  and  actually  led  to 
your   committing  the   offence  which  was   its   subject. 


44  CHARACTEB  BUILDING. 

Although,  as  I  have  implied,  your  formal  trial  and  pun- 
ishment must  be  reserved  for  another  hour,  yet  you 
may,  if  you  are  willing,  state  whether  this  supposition 
is  correct  or  not.     Jenkins  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Well,  it  came  about  in  this  way  : 
We  got  to  talking  after  school  about  what  you  said 
about  fighting.  Watson  said  he  believed  every  fellow 
that  was  not  a  coward  would  fight  if  he  were  insulted. 
I  told  him  I  did  n't  believe  anything  of  the  sort.  He 
insisted  upon  it,  and  said  that  I  would  fight  myself  if  I 
were  insulted  badly  enough.  I  said  I  would  n't,  and  I 
was  no  coward  either.  He  said  he  would  like  to  see  it 
tested.  I  said  I  could  n''t  be  insulted,  any  way.  "  Oh," 
said  he,  "  so  that 's  the  kind  of  fellow  you  are,  is  it  ?  " 
Well,  this  made  me  pretty  mad ;  but  I  kept  quiet.  I 
only  explained  that  anybody  who  insulted  me  would  be 
too  low  to  be  noticed.  He  said  all  that  was  very  grand 
talk,  but  if  the  trial  really  came  I  would  n't  find  it 
so  easy  as  I  thought.  Well,  the  talk  went  on  in  that 
style,  when  all  at  once,  before  I  knew  what  his  game 
was  —  He  may  tell  the  rest. 

Dr.  Dix.     Go  on,  Watson. 

Archibald  Watson  [Jianging  his  head'].  I  slapped 
him  over  the  mouth,  I  only  wanted  to  see  if  he  was 
the  saint  and  hero  he  pretended  to  be. 

Dr.  Dix.     And  you,  Jenkins  ? 

Geoffrey  Jeyikins.  My  fist  struck  out  before  I  could 
help  it.  He  did  it  so  quickly  he  did  n't  give  me  time 
to  think.     [^Applause,  which  the  Doctor  does  not  check."] 

Dr.  Dix.  And  you,  Watson,  having  satisfied  your 
curiosity,  having  found  out  that  he  was  n't  "  the  saint 
and  hero  he  pretended  to  be,"  took  the  blow  in  good 
part,  laughed,  and  asked  his  pardon  ? 

Archibald  Watson  \_coloring  with  shame].  N-no,  sir. 
He  hurt  me  a  good  deal,  and — and  I  struck  back,  and — ■ 

Dr.  Dix.     Well,  what  then,  Jenkins  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.     Then  we  had  it. 


THE  BATTLE.  45 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes,  your  appearance  indicates  pretty 
plainly  that  yon  both  "had  it."  \_Lau(jhter.']  Your 
senseless  quarrel  is  a  fair  type  of  quarrels  in  general. 
Very  rarely  are  both  sides  equally  to  blame  ;  still  more 
rarely  is  one  side  altogether  blameless.  Perhaps  in  the 
present  instance  one  of  the  parties  is  as  near  an  ap- 
proach to  — 

Archibald  Watson.  Dr.  Dix,  may  I  say  something 
more  ? 

Dr.  Dix.     Go  on. 

Archibald  Watson.  I  have  been  thinking  about  the 
affair  ever  since  it  occurred,  and  I  want  to  say  that  I  was 
entirely  to  blame  [Voices.  "Yes."  "That's  true."]  — 
and  I  want  to  ask  his  pardon  here  and  noAv.  l^Ajjjjlause.^ 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  No.  I  was  partly  to  blame.  [  Voices. 
(I  ]sj-Q  [  »  a  ^Q  I  "  j  Yes,  I  ought  to  have  carried  out  my 
boast. 

Archibald  Watson.  But  he  co7ild 7i't.  I  didn't  give 
him  time  to  think.  His  fist  struck  out  almost  of  its 
own  accord.  He  could  n't  help  it.  And  he  served  me 
right,  any  way.     [^Ajjjdatise.'] 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  It  is  not  quite  true  about  my  not 
being  able  to  help  it.  A  sort  of  half-thought  flashed 
through  my  mind,  "  Now  is  the  time  to  prove  my  boast- 
ing true.  Now  is  the  time  to  do  what  Dr.  Dix  talked 
about ; "  —  but  with  it  came  the  other  thought,  "  I  'd  like 
to  do  so  well  enough;  but  I'd  rather  show  him  that  he 
can't  slap  my  mouth  without  getting  his  own  slapped  a 
good  deal  harder,"  —  and  I  want  to  ask  his  pardon  for 
that. 

Archibald  ]^atson.  Well,  any  way,  I  was  the  most  to 
blame.     Was  n't  I,  Dr.  Dix  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Your  schoolmates  evidently  think  you 
were ;  and,  since  you  ask,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  pro- 
nouncing you  very  much  the  more  to  blame.  According 
to  the  account,  in  which  you  both  agree,  you  were  the 
entirely  unprovoked  aggressor. 


46  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Archibald  Watson.  And  he  was  not  at  all  to  blame, 
was  he  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  That  does  not  concern  you  so  much  as  it 
concerns  him.  He  insists  upon  it  that  he  was.  Well, 
boys,  in  spite  of  me  and  my  plans,  you  seem  to  have 
pretty  nearly  settled  the  whole  affair  between  your- 
selves. So  I  will  say  what  little  remains  to  be  said 
about  it  now.  You  were  both  to  blame,  though  in  very 
different  degrees :  one  of  you  for  his  uncalled-for,  his 
utterly  unjustifiable  insult  to  his  friend  and  school- 
mate ;  and  the  other  for  not  yielding  to  the  noble  im- 
pulse of  his  higher  nature,  which,  though  feeble  and 
momentary,  he  acknowledges  he  felt.  Both  of  you  are 
grievously  to  blame  for  the  unrestrained  rage  to  which 
you  afterwards  gave  way.  The  actual  physical  pain 
you  inflicted  upon  each  other  was  the  least  part  of  your 
offence,  and  I  will  allow  it  to  stand  for  a  part  of  your 
punishment.  Not  only  this,  but  so  far  as  that  physical 
pain  cleared  away  the  angry  clouds  from  your  brows 
and  from  your  hearts,  and  led  you  to  the  magnanimous 
confessions  you  have  publicly  made  this  morning,  I  con- 
sider it  a  positive  good.  It  certainly  was  far  better  than 
an  outward  peace  preserved  at  the  cost  of  bitter  wrath 
and  hatred  rankling  in  secret. 

So  now  you  may  shake  hands  in  token  of  your  mutual 
forgiveness  and  the  renewal  of  a  friendship  which,  I 
hope,  will  be  strengthened  by  the  wrench  it  has  re- 
ceived. We  will  consider  the  purely  personal  part  of 
this  discussion  at  an  end. 


X. 

WAES  AND  RUMORS  OF  WARS. 

Dr.  Dix.  "Wlien  I  began  these  Talks,  I  was  not  so 
sanguine  as  to  expect  that  the  wrong  pointed  out  would 
thenceforth  be  invariably  shunned.  If  evil  were  so 
easily  abolished  and  good  so  easily  established,  the 
world  would  have  reached  perfection  ages  ago,  and  the 
occupation  of  those  who  seek  to  do  good,  like  Othello's, 
would  be  gone. 

But  character  is  not  spoken  into  existence  by  the 
utterance  of  a  few  words,  as  were  the  palaces  of  the 
"  Arabian  I^ights  "  by  the  magician's  voice.  It  is  formed 
by  long,  slow  processes.  It  grows,  like  a  tree,  cell  by 
cell,  fibre  by  fibre,  branch  by  branch ;  it  is  builded, 
stone  by  stone,  like  real  palaces  whose  foundations  are 
on  the  solid  earth.  But  if  it  cannot  be  spoken  into  ex- 
istence, neither  can  it  be  destroyed  in  an  instant,  by  the 
magician's  voice.  Once  builded,  it  is  firm  and  solid 
"  from  turret  to  foundation  stone."  It  is  even  firmer  and 
more  solid  than  any  material  palace  or  castle ;  for  no 
enemy  can  batter  down  its  walls,  no  treacherous  torch 
can  reduce  it  to  a  heap  of  ruins.  Xo  hand  but  the 
owner's  can  harm  or  deface  it. 

I  expect  no  magical  results  from  these  appeals.  I 
hope  and  expect  something  better  than  magic,  —  pro- 
gress towards  the  good  and  the  true,  which  shall  be  real 
progress,  slow  though  it  may  be. 

The  incident  of  yesterday  neither  surprised  nor  dis- 
heartened me.  Our  Talk  against  fighting  did  not  pre- 
vent an  actual  fight  from  taking  place  within  a  week. 
According  to  the  account  given  by  the  participants,  it 


48  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

even  suggested  and  in  a  certain  way  induced  it.  Did 
the  Talk  then  do  no  good  ?  K^ay,  did  it  not  do  positive 
harm  ?  I  trow  not.  I  will  not  be  over-anxious ;  for 
when  the  physician  attempts  to  cure  a  disease,  he  some- 
times finds  its  peculiar  symptoms  aggravated,  rather 
than  reduced,  by  his  first  treatment :  but  that  does  not 
trouble  him  ;  he  knows  that  he  must  awaken  the  enemy 
before  he  can  drive  him  out. 

I  do  not  expect  that  talking  will  altogether  prevent 
fights  and  quarrels  in  the  future  ;  but,  scholars,  is  it 
too  much  to  hope  that  it  will  make  them  fewer,  less 
bitter,  and  sooner  mended  ?  that  it  will  make  them 
more  odious  in  your  eyes,  and  make  peace,  harmony, 
and  love  more  beautiful  ? 

I  have  already  characterized  pugilistic  encounters  as 
low,  vulgar,  and  brutal.  Of  all  forms  of  contention 
among  human  beings,  they  seem  to  me  the  most  so.  I 
cannot  perceive  any  respect  in  which  man-fights  or  boy- 
fights  of  this  kind  differ  essentially  from  dog-fights, 
except  that,  as  a  general  rule,  the  dog  exhibits  more 
desperate  pluck  and  fortitude  than  the  man.  Very  few 
men  would  allow  themselves  to  be  torn  limb  from  limb 
rather  than  relinquish  their  desperate  grip  on  the  ad- 
versary, as  many  a  dog  has  done. 

There  is  sublimity  as  well  as  terror  in  the  spectacle 
of  armies  battling  with  each  other  amid  the  roaring  of 
artillery,  the  flashing  and  clashing  of  steel,  and  the 
thundering,  rushing  tread  of  armed  hosts.  Even  the 
spectacle  of  a  pair  of  duellists,  calmly  facing  each  other 
with  their  deadly  weapons,  horrible  indeed  though  it 
be,  cannot  inspire  the  utter  disgust  and  loathing  in  the 
civilized  mind  that  it  feels  at  the  sight  of  a  pair  of 
human  beings,  insane  with  rage,  doing  their  utmost  to 
pound  the  "  divine  semblance  "  out  of  each  other's  faces 
with  their  fists. 

The  human  hand  is  a  noble  and  beautiful  object. 
Whether  it  wield  the  author's  pen,  the  artist's  pencil, 


WARS  AND  RUMORS  OF  WARS.  49 

or  the  artificer's  tool ;  whether  it  invoke  the  soul  of 
music,  thrill  the  heart  of  friendship  or  love  with  its 
warm  grasp,  or  sway  multitudes  with  its  wide  sweep, 
the  human  hand  is  a  noble  and  beautiful  object  to  con- 
template ;  —  but  the  human  Jist !  faugh  !  how  does  it 
differ  from  a  hammer  or  a  club,  except  that  it  is  not  so 
heavy,  hard,  or  deadly  ?  As  a  weapon  it  is  inferior  to 
almost  any  other  that  nature  has  provided.  Carnivora 
have  terrible  teeth  and  claws  ;  the  larger  herbivora  have 
horns  and  hoofs  ;  other  animals  are  armed  with  swords, 
arrows,  or  stings,  —  each  kind  showing  that  in  its  com- 
bats it  only  carries  out  the  design  of  nature.  Man  was 
made  for  nobler  things  than  fighting  with  his  fists  or 
with  less  vulgar  weapons. 

And  now  I  wish  you  to  notice  how,  as  we  ascend  in 
the  scale  of  being,  we  find  the  beastly  instinct  of  fight- 
ing less  and  less  developed.  Savage  man,  in  all  ages 
and  in  all  countries,  is  continually  at  war  with  his  fel- 
low-savage. The  barbarian  enjoys  longer  or  shorter 
intervals  of  peace  according  to  his  degree  of  advance- 
ment beyond  savagery ;  while  civilized  man  frequently 
lives  through  entire  generations  without  knowing  war 
save  in  history.  As  the  world  advances  in  civilization 
we  see  the  tendency  still  more  strikingly  shown.  In 
ancient  times  war  seems  to  have  been  the  chief  occupa- 
tion of  even  the  most  civilized  nations.  The  wonder  is 
that,  with  such  continual  cutting  and  slashing  at  one 
another,  such  endless  pillaging  and  burning,  the  human 
race,  with  the  works  of  its  hands,  was  not  altogether 
exterminated. 

Thomas  Dunn.  Their  weapons  were  not  so  effective 
as  those  of  modern  times. 

Dr.  Dix.  True.  If  they  had  been  as  effective,  wars 
could  not  have  been  protracted  through  whole  genera- 
tions, as  they  sometimes  were.  The  superiority  of  mod- 
ern arms  is  often  assigned  as  the  reason  why  there  is 
less  fighting  than  formerly.     Doubtless  this  is  one  great 


50  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

reason  ;  but  another  and  more  adequate  explanation  is 
the  improved  moral  and  intellectual  status  of  modern 
man  over  his  ancient  progenitor.  As  his  intellect  ad- 
vances, he  devises  more  and  more  effective  means  of 
destroying  life  ;  but  meanwhile  his  heart  and  soul  keep 
pace  with  his  intellect,  and  hence  his  disposition  to 
make  wanton  use  of  his  deadly  inventions  diminishes, 
and  his  disposition  to  settle  his  differences  by  arbitra- 
tion increases. 

Florence  Hill.  Do  you  suppose  the  time  will  come 
when  war  will  be  entirely  unknown,  when  all  disagree- 
ments between  nations  will  be  settled  by  arbitration  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  The  civilized  part  of  the  world  have  the 
best  of  reasons  for  looking  forward  to  such  a  time.  It 
is  a  point  in  perfection  towards  which  civilized  man  is 
slowly  but  surely  advancing. 

Florence  Hill.  That  will  be  the  time  when  men  shall 
"  beat  their  swords  into  ploughshares  and  their  spears 
into  pruning-hooks." 

Dr.  Dix.  Try  to  imagine  such  a  golden  age,  scholars. 
No  repetition  possible  of  such  horrors  as  your  fathers 
and  mothers  witnessed  only  a  short  quarter-century 
ago  ;  no  such  evils  as  exist  even  in  the  peaceful  to-day  ; 
no  millions  of  treasure  wasted  in  the  making  of  arms 
and  munitions  and  in  the  building  of  fortifications  ;  no 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  able-bodied  men  taken  from 
the  ranks  of  useful  labor  to  consume  in  idleness  the 
products  of  others'  industry  ! 

Florence  Hill.  Do  you  believe.  Dr.  Dix,  that  such  an 
age  will  actually  come  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Why  should  I  not  ?  The  history,  philoso- 
phy, and  faith  of  mankind  all  point  to  that  glorious 
consummation. 

George  Williams.  And  yet  when  it  comes  there  will 
be  something  lost  to  the  world. 

Dr.  Dix.  Possibly.  The  proverb  says,  '^  There  is 
no  great  gain  without  some  small  loss."  What  do  you 
think  will  be  lost  ? 


WARS  AND  RUMORS  OF  WARS.  51 

George  Williams.  Well,  it  seems  to  me  such  an  age 
must  be  exceedingly  tame.  There  will  be  no  grand 
military  heroes  to  admire,  —  no  Grants,  nor  Shermans, 
nor  Sheridans,  nor  Ousters,  nor  Stonewall  Jacksons. 
In  private  life  there  will  be  no  father  nor  brother  who 
has  shown  his  courage  and  patriotism  by  going  to  the 
wars. 

Florence  Hill.  Among  all  the  horrors  and  sacrifices 
of  our  great  war,  did  it  not  have  at  least  one  great  and 
good  effect  ?  Did  it  not  make  men  and  women  sud- 
denly forget  their  selfishness  and  their  avarice,  and  be- 
come devoted  patriots  ? 

Dr.  Dix.     We  will  reply  next  Wednesday. 


XL 

WHEN  THE  GOOD  BOY  WILL  FIGHT. 

Dr.  Dix.  If  there  were  no  wars,  there  would  cer- 
tainly be  no  grand  military  heroes,  no  soldier  fathers, 
brothers,  husbands,  or  lovers  to  admire  and  be  proud  of 
—  or  to  mourn. 

But  Peace  has  its  heroes  as  well  as  War.  There  is 
other  glory  than  that  of  the  battlefield.  The  most  he- 
roic bravery  may  be  shown  in  saving  life  as  well  as  in 
destroying  it.  Does  a  young  man  weary  of  the  tame- 
ness  of  peace,  and  thirst  for  the  glory  that  heroic  self- 
sacrifice  brings  ?  There  is  no  lack  of  opportunity  ;  the 
bravest  soldier  that  ever  charged  battery,  or  leaped  over 
parapet,  was  no  braver  than  the  physician  or  the  nurse 
who  remains  unflinchingly  at  the  post  of  duty,  while 
others  are  fleeing  from  the  pestilence  that  wasteth  at 
noonday  ;  or  the  fireman  who  dares  wounds  and  death 
more  terrible  than  those  from  the  bullet  or  the  bayonet ; 
or  the  engineer  who  saves  his  train  at  the  cost  of  his 
own  life;  or  the  ship  captain  who  will  not  leave  his 
sinking  wreck  until  all  others  are  saved,  from  the  cabin 
passenger  to  the  miserable  stowaway  ;  or  the  lifeboat- 
man  ;  or  any  one  else  who  flings  himself  into  the  breach 
at  the  trumpet-call  of  duty,  —  not,  mark  you,  to  shoot 
and  cut  and  thrust  and  stab,  not  to  kill,  but  to  save  ! 

No  opportunity  for  heroism  when  wars  shall  have 
been  banished  from  earth  ?     Think  of  Father  Damien  ! 

Susan  Perkins.  Can  there  really  be  such  a  thing  as 
a  righteous  war  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Most  people  think  so.  We  Americans  look 
upon  all  our  great  wars  as  righteous,  at  least  on  one 
side. 


WHEN   THE  GOOD  BOY   WILL  FIGHT.  53 

Susan  Perkins.  And  I  suppose  tliose  who  fought  ou 
the  other  side  thought  the  same  for  their  side  ? 

Dr.  Dix.     Unquestionably. 

Susan  Ferkins.  But  both  sides  could  n't  be  in  the 
right. 

Dr.  Dix.     That  seems  evident. 

Susan  Ferkins.  Does  the  side  that  is  in  the  right 
always  win  the  victory,  as  we  Americans  have  always 
done  ? 

Dr.  Dix  [smiling~\.  "  We  Americans  "  have  not  al- 
ways been  victorious  ;  in  our  last  war  half  of  us  were 
defeated.  Now  let  me  ask  you  a  question  :  If  millions 
of  civilized  people  think  one  thing  right,  and  millions 
of  other  civilized  people  think  just  the  opposite,  who  is 
to  decide  which  is  really  the  right  ? 

Susan  Ferkins.  Why,  I  suppose  the  stronger  party 
will  decide. 

Dr.  Dix.  "When  strength  has  been  appealed  to, 
strength  has  always  decided ;  and  the  world  has  gener- 
ally concurred  in  the  decision.     "  Might  makes  right." 

Susan  Ferkins.  But  it  is  n't  always  really  true,  is  it, 
that  might  makes  right  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  By  no  means.  But  in  purely  political  wars, 
not  involving  any  great  moral  question,  it  has  always 
been  so  regarded.  The  party  that  revolted  against  the 
existing  form  of  government,  if  successful,  were  "  glo- 
rious revolutionists  ; "  if  defeated,  they  were  "  traitors 
and  rebels." 

Susan  Ferkins.  I  don't  understand  how  the  time  can 
ever  come  when  it  will  be  otherwise. 

Dr.  Dix.  As  I  said,  the  nations  are  growing  more 
intelligent  and  more  humane.  The  time  was  when  it 
was  thought  not  only  just,  but  perfectly  rational,  to  de- 
cide by  a  mortal  combat  between  private  individuals 
which  of  them  was  in  the  right.  The  world  has  out- 
grown this  palpable  absurdity.  Why  should  it  not  in 
time  grow  intelligent  enough  to  perceive  that  a  national 


54  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

combat  is  no  more  rational  a  criterion  of  right  and  jus- 
tice than  a  private  combat  is  ? 

Susan  Perkins .  Then,  if  the  stronger  nation  is  not 
to  decide,  who  will  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  If  what  are  called  the  "  Laws  of  Nations  " 
are  not  definite  enough  in  themselves  to  settle  a  disa- 
greement between  two  nations  or  two  parts  of  the  same 
nation,  it  will,  by  common  consent,  be  referred  to  a 
commission  of  other  friendly  powers.  This  is  what  we 
mean  by  arbitration.  What  is  the  most  famous  instance 
of  the  sort  that  you  know  of  ? 

Susan  Perkins.  The  commission  that  sat  at  Geneva 
on  the  Alabama  Claims. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes.  Undoubtedly  it  prevented  what,  less 
than  a  century  ago,  would  have  been  a  long  and  bloody 
war. 

Susan  Perkins.  That  might  always  have  been  done, 
might  it  not  ? 

i>r.  Dix.  Certainly,  if  only  the  parties  interested 
had  agreed  to  it. 

Susan  Perkins.  Then  I  don't  understand  how  any 
war  that  was  ever  fought  can  be  called  a  righteous  war. 

Dr.  Dix.  Simply  because  it  "  takes  two  to  make  a 
bargain."  It  is  not  enough  for  one  side  to  be  willing 
to  appeal  to  arbitration.  If  one  side  will  not  assent 
to  this  peaceable  mode  of  settlement,  then  nothing  re- 
mains for  the  other  side  but  to  fight  or  submit  to  what 
it  considers  wrong.  As  the  world  advances,  the  general 
sentiment  of  humanity  will  grow  so  strong  in  favor  of 
arbitration,  and  its  indignation  at  the  barbarous  crim- 
inality of  forcing  a  war  will  be  so  overpowering,  that 
no  nation  will  dare  to  brave  it.  Wars  will  go  out  of 
fashion  as  duels  have  already  gone. 

Florence  Hill.  Dr.  Dix,  you  spoke  of  one  nation  be- 
ing forced  to  fight  or  submit  to  wrong.  Are  we  not 
taught  that  it  is  better  to  suffer  wrong  than  to  do 
wrong  ? 


WHEN  THE  GOOD  BOY   WILL  FIGHT.  65 

Dr.  D'lx.  Better  to  suffer  wrong  than  to  do  wrong, 
always,  either  for  a  man  or  for  a  nation.  But,  though 
we  may  rightfully  submit  to  wrong  in  our  own  persons, 
we  have  no  right  to  allow  others  to  suffer  through  our 
neglect.  Especially  is  it  our  duty  to  see  that  our  be- 
loved country  suffers  no  wrong  from  its  enemies  that 
we  can  prevent  by  any  personal  sacrifice ;  to  see  that 
future  generations  inherit  no  burden. of  injustice  or 
oppression  from  our  cowardice  or  neglect  of  duty.  It 
is  because  our  fathers  did  their  duty  in  this  respect  so 
nobly  and  heroically  that  we  are  now  enjoying  our 
inalienable  rights  to  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happi- 
ness, with  no  earthly  power  to  disturb  us  or  make  us 
afraid. 

Charles  Fox.  Is  it  ever  right  to  fight  except  as  a 
soldier  for  one's  country  ? 

Dr.  Dlx.  "  Ever  "  is  a  very  comprehensive  word.  I 
can  truly  say  that  I  never  saw  the  time  in  my  own  life 
when  I  thought  it  was  right  for  me,  and  I  hope  you 
will  never  see  the  day  when  it  will  be  right  for  you. 

Charles  Fox.     But  it  maij  come,  may  it  not  ? 

Dr.  Dix  [laughing'].  How  natural  it  is  for  a  boy  to 
love  to  talk  about  fighting !  If  you  should  ever  see  as 
much  of  it  as  my  comrades  and  I  saw  during  the  war, 
perhaps  it  will  not  seem  so  fascinating  to  you.  Man  is 
a  combative  animal ;  but  he  is  generally  pretty  easily 
satisfied :  a  few  weeks  in  the  hospital  are  likely  to  cure 
him  entirely. 

Well,  since  you  insist  iipon  it,  I  believe  I  made  the 
statement  a  while  ago  that  the  good  boy  will  not  fight 
unless  he  is  absolutely  compelled.  Thac  implies  that 
there  may  be  circumstances  when  it  is  not  only  not 
wrong,  but  positively  his  duty  to  fight. 

Fighting  is  not  wrong  in  itself :  it  is  the  hatred,  cru- 
elty, injustice,  selfishness,  pride,  vanity,  greed,  or  un- 
reasoning anger  that  so  often  accompanies  fighting  that 
is  wrong. 


66  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Jonathan  Tower.  You  said  a  good  boy  will  not  fight 
unless  he  is  absolutely  compelled.  Even  a  coward  will 
fight  then.  I  have  read  that  the  most  timid  animals 
sometimes  defend  themselves  fiercely  when  driven  to 
desperation. 

Dr.  Dix.  The  time  when  the  coward  will  fight  may 
be  the  very  time  when  the  good  and  really  brave  boy 
will  not. 

Charles  Fox.  Dr.  Dix,  will  you  please  say  when  you 
think  it  would  be  right  to  fight,  except  as  a  soldier  for 
your  country  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  You  seem  to  think  this  is  one  of  those  oc- 
casions. \_Laughter.~\  You  seem  most  desperately  deter- 
mined to  carry  your  point,  at  all  events.  Well,  I  will 
ask  you  to  suppose  a  case. 

Charles  Fox.  If  you  should  be  walking  with  your 
mother  or  sister,  and  a  ruifi.d,n  should  attack  her. 

Dr.  Dix.  That  would  be  a  trying  situation,  indeed ! 
The  boy  or  man  that  would  not  fight  then  Avould  be 
rather  a  sorry  specimen  of  humanity.  \More  seriously.^ 
And,  scholars,  don't  you  think  the  case  supposed  is  an  ad- 
mirable illustration  of  the  situation  in  which  the  loyal, 
patriotic  citizen  feels  himself  when  his  mother  country 
is  attacked  by  ruffians  ? 

Many  Voices  \_heartily'].     Yes,  sir. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes.  There  is  a  very  close  kinship  between 
the  instinct  of  patriotism  in  the  noble  soul  and  filial 
affection  and  faithfulness.  Well,  you  may  suppose 
other  cases. 

Henry  Jones.  When  you  see  a  big  fellow  abusing  a 
little  one  \_glancing  resentfully  at  Joseph  Crackling 

Joseph  Cracklin.  Sometimes  little  fellows  deserve 
to  be  punished  for  their  insolence. 

Dr.  Dix  [with  keen  significance'].  A  fellow  with  a 
big  soul  as  well  as  a  big  body  never  recognizes  "  inso- 
lence "  in  a  little  fellow. 

Henry  Jones.     And  I  only  told  him  he  was  a  — 


WHEN  THE  GOOD  BOY   WILL  FIGHT.  57 

JDr.  Dix.  And  a  little  fellow  Avith  a  big  soul  never 
tries  to  shield  insolence  with  his  little  body.  But 
enough  of  this.     Go  on  with  your  cases. 

Frank  Williams.  If  a  burglar  should  break  into  your 
house. 

James  Minyhij.  If  a  robber  should  attack  you  in  the 
street. 

Dr.  Dix.  With  all  due  respect  to  your  coolness  and 
courage,  boys,  I  think  it  scarcely  probable  that  many  of 
you  will  enjoy  such  opportunities  to  display  those  ad- 
mirable qualities,  however  much  you  may  covet  them. 
Never  mind  doubling  up  your  fists  now,  —  there 's  no 
immediate  danger  that  I  can  see.     [.Lauglder.'] 

Without  reference  to  any  incident  that  has  occurred 
among  us,  let  me  remind  you  that  there  is  a  wide  dif- 
ference between  a  blow  struck  in  self-defence  and  one 
struck  in  mere  revenge.  And  let  me  remind  you,  boys, 
and  girls  too,  that  there  is  a  kind  of  self-defence  besides 
that  against  blows  upon  the  right  cheek.  There  are 
enemies  within  our  own  bosoms  far  more  dangerous  than 
any  we  are  likely  to  encounter  without.  Against  them 
the  good  boy  and  the  good  girl  will  fight  with  all  the 
heroic  chivalry  they  possess. 

Mary  Rice.  I  understood  you  to  justify  self-defence, 
Dr.  Dix.  Are  we  not  told  that  if  any  man  smite  us  on 
the  right  cheek,  we  are  to  turn  the  other  also  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  I  am  not  aware  that  I  have  as  yet  expressed 
any  decided  views  on  the  subject  of  physical  self-de- 
fence. We  will  talk  further  upon  this  subject  next 
week. 


XII. 
WHEN  THE  GOOD  BOY  WILL  NOT  FIGHT. 

Dr.  Dix.  Suppose  that  when  men  were  struck  upon 
the  riglit  cheek  they  always  turned  the  other  also,  how 
would  the  great  aggregate  of  lighting  and  quarrelling 
the  world  over  be  affected  ? 

Mary  Rice.  It  would  be  very  much  diminished,  of 
course. 

Florence  Hill.  I  should  say  it  would  disappear  alto- 
gether, if  everybody  acted  on  that  principle,  for  nobody 
would  strike  in  the  first  place. 

Dr.  Dix.  Well,  suppose  half  the  world  were  inclined 
to  strike,  but  the  other  half  were  not  inclined  to  return 
the  blows. 

Thomas  Dann.  I  think  the  effects  would  be  very 
different  with  different  people.  Some  would  no  doubt 
be  satisfied  with  the  blow  they  had  already  given,  and 
would  have  no  disposition  to  repeat  it. 

Dr.  Dix.  Do  you  think  they  would  have  no  feeling 
besides  that  of  satisfaction  ? 

Thomas  Dunn.  They  might  think  the  blow  was  de- 
served, that  no  more  than  justice  had  been  done,  and 
they  might  suppose  that  the  reason  why  it  was  not 
returned  was  because  the  other  party  viewed  it  in  the 
same  light. 

Dr.  Dix.  Even  granting  this  to  be  the  case  (which, 
as  human  nature  is  constituted,  would  not  be  likely  to 
occur  very  frequently),  how  would  they  probably  regard 
such  an  exhibition  of  patient  submission  to  justice  ? 

Thomas  Dunn.  They  might  admire  it;  that  is,  if 
they  did  n't  despise  what  might  seem  a  want  of  spirit. 


WHEN   THE  GOOD  BOY   WILL  NOT  FIGHT.       59 

Dr.  Dix.  But  the  supposition  is  that  they  regard  the 
forbearance  shown  as  due  only  to  the  sense  of  justice. 

TltoiiKis  Dunn.  In  that  case,  of  course  they  couldn't 
but  admire  it. 

Dr.  Dix.  Don't  you  think  it  possible  that  they  might 
even  feel  something  like  regret, — that  they  might  wish 
they  had  shown  a  like  forbearance  ? 

Thomas  Dunn.     Some  might  feel  so. 

Dr.  Dix.  A  person  of  real  magnanimity  would,  would 
he  not  ? 

Thomas  Dunn.     Yes,  sir. 

Dr.  Dix.  And  if  he  were  not  a  person  of  magnanim- 
ity, would  it  matter  very  much  to  the  other  how  he 
felt? 

Thomas  Dunn.     I  suppose  not. 

Dr.  Dix.    At  all  events,  the  quarrel  would  be  stopped. 

Thomas  Dunn.  It  might  be,  in  that  case.  But  there 
are  other  people  who,  if  they  find  they  can  abuse  any- 
body with  impunity,  will  keep  on  doing  so. 

Dr.  Dix.  Do  you  think  there  are  many  such  ?  Did 
you  ever  see  an  example  ? 

Thomas  Dunn.  Indeed  I  have.  He  is  known  among 
schoolboys  as  a  bully.  Among  grown-up  people  he  has 
different  names.  I  lived  in  a  town  once  where  there 
was  a  man  who  was  always  cheating  the  minister,  be- 
cause he  thought  he  was  "too  pious  to  quarrel." 

Dr.  Dix.  And  did  the  minister  submit  without  pro- 
test? 

Thomas  Dunn.  I  never  heard  of  his  protesting.  All 
I  know  is  that  the  same  thing  was  going  on  when  I  left 
the  town. 

Dr.  Dix.  What  do  you  think  the  minister  ought  to 
have  done  ? 

Thomas  Dunn.  I  think  he  ought  to  have  prosecuted 
the  rascal  for  swindling.  He  ought  to  have  done  so  for 
the  sake  of  his  family,  if  not  for  his  own  sake.  Because 
he  was  smitten  on  his  right  cheek  he  had  no  right  to 


60  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

tiirn  their  left  cheeks  also.  .  Because  a  man  took  away 
his  coat  he  had  no  business  to  give  him  thcij-  cloaks, 
whatever  he  did  with  his  own. 

Dr.  Dix  \_coldly'\.  It  seems  to  me  you  make  a  digres- 
sion for  the  sake  of  the  opportunity  to  be  caustic.  We 
were  speaking  of  quarrelling,  not  of  prosecution  in  a 
court  of  justice. 

Thomas  Dunn.  Is  n't  prosecution  a  species  of  quar- 
relling ? 

Dr.  Dix.  A  court  of  justice  bears  a  relation  to  pri- 
vate individuals  similar  to  that  which  a  court  of  arbi- 
tration bears  to  nations.  The  legitimate  purpose  of 
both  is  the  same  :  to  prevent  or  settle  quarrels  and  see 
that  justice  is  done.  So,  in  a  legal  prosecution  of  the 
man  who  wronged  him  and  his  family,  your  minister 
could  not  justly  be  charged  with  quarrelling.  On  the 
contrary,  if  he  found  that  personal  appeals  to  the  man's 
conscience  and  generosity  were  of  no  avail,  he  should 
be  credited  with  resorting  to  the  only  peaceable  means 
of  righting  a  wrong  that  lay  within  his  power,  arbitra- 
tion. 

Is  it  not  possible,  however,  that  the  good  man  feared 
lest  the  remedy  might  prove  worse  than  the  evil,  — lest, 
in  short,  it  might  prove  more  costly  to  go  to  law  than 
to  submit  to  the  imposition  ? 

Thomas  Dunn.  My  uncle  offered  to  pay  all  the  costs 
if  he  would  sue  the  man. 

Dr.  Dix.  Ah,  there  might  be  costs  that  j'our  uncle 
could  not  pay.  I  know  something  of  the  relations  be- 
tween country  clergymen  and  their  parishioners. 

Louisa  ThQm,pson.  You  called  a  court  of  justice  a 
court  of  arbitration  to  prevent  quarrels.  In  reality  is 
there  not  more  quarrelling  there  than  almost  anywhere 
else  ?  Is  n't  the  prosecution  itself  generally  one  long 
quarrel  between  the  lawyers  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  We  must  admit  that  even  lawyers  are  not 
free    from  human  imperfections.     \_Laug]iter.~\     There 


WHEN   TUE  GOOD  BOY   WILL  NOT  FIGHT.       Gl 

need  be  no  more  quarrelling  in  determining  the  truth  and 
its  proper  consequences  in  a  case  at  law  than  in  a  ques- 
tion of  science  or  mathematics.  That  men  pervert  and 
abuse  their  proper  functions  in  the  judicial  departnnnit 
of  human  society,  as  they  do  in  all  other  departments, 
is  no  reason  why  the  citizen  should  not  perform  his 
own  proper  function  as  a  member  of  society. 

Not  that  he  should  be  ready  to  appeal  every  trivial 
disagreement.  Generally,  not  only  magnanimity  and 
dignity,  but  even  common  sense  and  common  policy, 
dictate  the  quiet  ignoring  of  minor  injuries  from  our 
neighbors. 

Florence  Hill.  Besides,  as  you  said,  it  costs  a  good 
deal  to  go  to  law  :  poor  people  cannot  afford  it. 

Br.  Dix.  Yes,  indeed,  it  costs !  Often  far  more 
than  the  wrong  it  cures.  Bvit  to  resent  the  wrong  in 
other  ways  is  more  costly  still ;  for  it  costs  what  is 
more  precious  than  gold  and  silver.  Better  suffer  in 
person  and  property  than  in  heart  and  character.  And, 
heart  and  character  aside,  it  is  better  to  make  a  little 
concession,  even  if  in  doing  so  we  suffer  injustice,  than 
to  live  in  unending  enmity  with  our  neighbor. 

Henry  Fhillips.  Is  there  not  danger  that  we  may 
encourage  our  neighbor  to  continue  in  his  wrong-doing, 
as  the  man  did  that  Dunn  told  us  of  ? 

Dr.  Dlx.  That  person  is  an  example  of  only  one 
class  of  men,  —  I  am  happy  to  believe  of  only  a  com- 
paratively small  class.  The  more  probable  result  of 
our  forbearance  would  be  to  awaken  feelings  of  shame 
and  repentance  in  those  who  have  wronged  us.  IMen 
generally  have  a  pretty  fair  knowledge  of  what  is  right 
and  just.  When  their  judgment  is  not  clouded  by  an- 
ger, hatred,  or  revenge,  they  usually  know  when  they 
are  in  the  wrong,  whether  they  confess  it  or  not.  And 
there  is  nothing  which  will  sweep  away  those  clouds 
from  their  minds  like  turning  the  other  cheek  also. 
There  is  nothing  like  a  soft  answer  to  turn  away  wrath. 


62  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

One  of  the  most  curious  and  interesting  phases  of 
human  emotion  is  that  which  accompanies  a  reconcilia- 
tion after  a  quarrel.  They  whose  chief  object  lately 
seemed  to  be  to  injure  each  other,  now  vie  with  each 
other  in  friendly  words  and  deeds  ;  whereas  each  strove 
to  be  more  haughty,  bitter,  and  unyielding  than  the 
other,  now  the  question  is,  which  shall  be  the  more 
humble  and  apologetic.  In  short,  the  chief  object  of 
each  now  is  to  undo  what  before  he  was  most  anxious 
to  do.  What  better  acknowledgment  could  each  make 
that  he  was  mistaken  ?  that  all  that  energy  and  passion 
were  wasted,  —  worse  than  wasted  ?  It  seems  to  me 
that  no  lesson  can  better  teach  the  utter  folly  as  well  as 
wickedness  of  a  quarrel  than  the  absurd  inconsistencies 
between  it  and  the  reconciliation  which  it  almost  always 
lies  in  the  power  of  either  party  to  bring  about. 

You  all  know  what  is  meant  by  "  noble  revenge." 
You  have  read  stories  of  which  that  is  the  motif. 
Other  things  being  equal,  are  there  any  stories  more 
stirring  ?  are  there  any  in  which  your  sympathy  and 
admiration  for  the  hero  are  more  strongly  aroused  ? 

Helen  Mar.  I  never  quite  liked  the  word  "  revenge  " 
in  such  stories,  notwithstanding  the  "  noble."  In  fact,  I 
fail  to  see  how  any  kind  of  revenge  can  be  noble.  You 
might  as  well  speak  of  hot  ice.  I  don't  see  any  essen- 
tial difference  between  heaping  coals  of  fire  on  your 
enemy's  head  and  heaping  them  under  his  barn,  except 
that  heaping  them  on  his  head  is  very  much  the  worse. 

Dr.  Dix.  If  the  only  purpose  is  to  cause  suffer- 
ing, there  is  no  essential  difference.  No  doubt  such 
"  noble  "  revenge  is  often  taken.  "  I  Avill  return  him 
good  for  evil,"  one  will  say,  "  until  he  is  ready  to  sink 
into  the  earth  for  shame.  He  shall  not  dare  to  hold 
up  his  head  in  my  presence."  And  the  added  thought 
may  be,  "  Everybody  will  then  see  how  magnanimous  I 
am,  and  how  contemptible  he  is." 

But  those  whose  revenge  is  really  noble  have  no  such 


WHEN  THE  GOOD  BOY   WILL  NOT  FIGHT.       63 

thought.  They  even  lament  the  pain  their  return  of 
good  for  evil  may  cause.  They  soften  the  suffering  as 
much  as  possible  by  kind,  forgiving  words  and  a  chari- 
table palliation  of  the  injury  done  them.  "  You  did 
not  harm  me  so  very  much,  after  all,"  they  will  say. 
"  At  all  events,  it  is  past  now,  and  the  future  remains 
to  us  both."  ^ 

Then,  too,  they  know  well  that  such  "  coals  of  fire  " 
are  beneficent  rather  than  evil  in  their  effects ;  that 
they  burn  out  nothing  but  what  is  bad,  only  warming 
the  good  to  life. 

Now,  let  us  suppose  them  to  take  the  opposite  course. 
Suppose  they  nourish  their  wrath,  and  show  in  every 
way  they  dare  their  implacable  hatred  towards  those 
who  have  injured  them :  what  will  ba  the  natural  re- 
sult ? 

Henri/  P^ii^Hps.  Their  mutual  hatred  will  grow 
stronger  and  stronger. 

Dr.  Dix.  And  suppose  that  opportunities  come  when 
they  can  return  evil  for  evil  with  interest,  and  that  they 
improve  their  opportunities,  —  what  then  ? 

Henry  FhUlij^s.  Matters  will  only  grow  worse  and 
worse. 

Dr.  Dix.  Though  by  superior  force  they  may,  in  a 
sense,  be  said  to  vanquish  their  enemies,  will  they  really 
do  so  ? 

Henry  Phillips.  No,  Dr.  Dix.  Their  enemies  will 
only  wait  for  a  chance  to  "  get  even  "  with  them. 

Dr.  Dix.  And  so  on,  back  and  forth,  perhaps  from 
generation  to  generation.  If  a  man  smite  thee  on  the 
right  cheek,  smite  him  in  return ;  and  if  he  dare  not 
repeat  his  blow,  yet  will  he  find  some  way  to  strike 
thee,  —  in  the  dark,  perhaps.  At  all  events,  he  remains 
thine  enemy.  But  turn  to  him  the  other  also,  and  lo  ! 
the  hand  that  smote  thee  is  outstretched  for  thy  for- 
giveness.    The  only  absolute  conqueror  is  Love. 


XIIL 
"GOODY-GOODY"  AND  GOOD. 

Dr.  Dix.  You  have  heard  of  "hero-worshippers." 
They  are  almost  as  solicitous  for  the  welfare  and  repu- 
tation of  their  favorites  as  for  their  own.  They  are  as 
sensitive  to  injustice,  and  especially  to  ridicule  or  con- 
tempt that  may  be  cast  upon  their  heroes,  as  they  would 
be  in  their  own  behalf.  Now,  I  think  I  must  be  an 
example  of  the  species,  for  I  acknowledge  a  sensitive- 
ness in  regard  to  a  certain  class  of  my  fellow-beings, 
which  some  of  you  have  touched  more  than  once.  jMy 
hero  is  the  good  boy  ;  my  heroine  is  the  good  girl ;  and 
you  must  be  careful  how  you  asperse  either  of  these  in 
my  hearing,  for  I  shall  always  be  their  stanch  and 
loyal  defender. 

Advertisers  of  merchandise  often  warn  the  public 
against  base  imitations,  which,  they  complain,  tend  to 
injure  the  reputation  of  their  wares.  Certain  classes 
of  people  suffer  from  base  imitations,  but  only  in  the 
minds  of  those  who  cannot  distinguish  between  the 
genuine  and  the  spurious.  The  gallant  soldier  suffers 
in  reputation  from  the  blustering  braggadocio  who  is  at 
heart  as  cowardly  as  he  is  blustering.  The  saint  suf- 
fers from  the  hypocrite ;  the  true  scholar  from  the 
pedantic  sham  who  astonishes  the  ignorant  with  his 
vast  stories  of  learning;  and  I  suspect,  from  some 
things  which  have  been  said  and  which  have  formed 
the  subjects  of  some  of  our  Talks,  that  my  hero  and 
heroine  have  suffered  in  your  estimation  from  a  similar 
cause. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  base  imitations  of  the  good 


"GOODY-GOODY"  AND  GOOD.  65 

boy  or  girl :  First,  the  real,  unmitigated  hypocrite  who 
pulls  his  long  face  and  whines  out  his  sanctimonious 
cant  for  the  deliberate  purpose  of  concealing  his  vil- 
lany.  This  species,  I  am  happy  to  believe,  is  exceed- 
ingly rare  among  young  persons ;  it  generally  takes 
more  than  twenty-one  years  to  develop  that  degree  of 
contemptible  wickedness ;  so  we  will  not  dwell  on  the 
revolting  picture.  The  second  kind  is  the  "  goody- 
goody  "  boy  or  girl,  who  is  usually  rather  weak  than 
deliberately  wicked,  although  he  may  have,  without 
suspecting  it,  some  of  the  most  despicable  traits  joined 
to  his  self-righteousness. 

Jonathan  Tower.     What  traits,  for  example  ? 

Dr.  Dlx.  Well,  pusillanimity,  vanity,  treachery,  per- 
haps from  a  mistaken  sense  of  duty,  uncharitableness, 
and  that  same  canting  sanctimoniousness  which  I  have 
ascribed  to  the  other  and  far  worse  species. 

Is  it  not  possible  that  this  is  the  kind  of  good  boy 
that  some  of  you  had  in  mind  when  you  compared  him 
so  unfavorably  with  the  gay,  fascinating  bad  boy  of 
your  fancy  ?  If  so,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  don't  agree 
with  you.  Many  so-called  bad  boys  are  far  more  worthy 
of  respect,  trust,  and  admiration  than  boys  of  this  type. 

But  the  goody-goody  boy  and  the  good  boy  are  no 
more  alike  than  a  solid  gold  eagle  is  like  a  poorly  exe- 
cuted counterfeit. 

Now,  scholars,  let  me  give  you  my  ideal  of  the  really 
good  boy,  my  hero,  —  and  I  wish  you  to  understand 
that  I  use  the  word  "  boy  "  generically,  as  we  use  the 
word  "  man,"  to  denote  both  sexes. 

This  is  the  hero,  the  knight  sans  peur  et  sans  re- 
proche ;  ^  — 

He  is  truthful.  He  would  scorn  any  approach  to  a 
lie  as  he  would  scorn  any  other  act  of  meanness  or  of 
cowardice.  Do  you  despise  him  for  this  ?  do  you  ad- 
mire a  liar  ? 

^  Without  fear  and  without  reproach. 


66  CHARACTER   BUILDING. 

He  is  generous,  —  in  thought,  word,  and  deed.  He 
thinks  the  best  of  you  tliat  you  will  allow  him  to  think. 
If  others  vilify  you  behind  your  backs,  he  takes  up  the 
cudgel  in  your  defence.  If  you  are  in  trouble,  he  does 
his  best  to  help  you.  How  do  you  like  that  ?  Do  you 
prefer  a  boy  who  thinks  and  speaks  evil  of  you.,  who  is 
sellish  and  unaccommodating,  and  who  laughs  at  your 
trouble  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Dr.  Dix,  one  of  the  worst  boys  in 
town  (at  least  he  is  called  so ;  he  has  been  expelled 
from  school  so  often  that  they  are  talking  of  sending 
him  to  the  Reform  School)  will  always  help  a  fellow 
when  he  can.  He  is  the  most  generous  boy  I  ever 
knew. 

Dr.  Dix.  So  far  as  he  "  helps  a  fellow "  in  a  good 
cause  he  is  good.  Probably  no  one  is  utterly  bad.  As 
there  are  faults  in  the  best  of  men,  so  there  are  virtues 
in  the  worst.  As  to  his  being  the  most  generous  boy 
you  ever  knew,  that  may  be,  but  he  is  not  more  gener- 
ous than  my  good  boy,  my  hero. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  But  don't  you  think  that  people 
who  have  the  reputation  of  being  bad  are  apt  to  be 
more  generous  and  free-hearted  than  those  who  have 
the  reputation  of  being  good  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  I  am  not  speaking  of  reputation;  I  am 
speaking  of  reality.  Generosity  and  free-heartedness 
in  themselves  are  among  the  noblest  and  most  admira- 
ble qualities  we  can  possess.  So  far  as  any  one  pos- 
sesses them  he  is  good,  noble,  and  admirable,  whatever 
he  may  be  in  other  respects.  As  to  what  class  of  men 
possess  them  in  the  greatest  measure,  I  say  unhesi- 
tatingly, men  who  are  good  in  other  respects,  —  not 
goody-goody,  you  understand,  but  good.  It  would  be  a 
self-contradiction  to  say  the  opposite  :  badness  does  n't 
consist  in  good  qualities,  does  it  ?  nor  goodness  in  bad 
qualities. 

You  must  bear  in  mind  one  universal  principle  :  con- 


''GOODY-GOODY''  AND  GOOD.  67 

trast  always  brings  things  out  in  bolder  relief.  Kind- 
ness of  heart  is  expected  from  a  good  man,  and  is  not 
noticed  as  it  would  be  in  an  otherwise  bad  man.  It  is 
no  more  conspicuous  in  the  good  than  hard-heartedness 
and  selfishness  are  in  the  bad.  A  white  handkerchief 
that  would  not  be  seen  in  the  sunlighted  snow  would 
gleam  like  a  star  on  a  heap  of  coal  a  furlong  away. 
Your  reform-school  candidate  is  no  more  generous  and 
free-hearted  than  my  hero;  probably  not  so  much  so,  for 
my  hero  will  always  stop  to  think  whether  his  gener- 
ous impulses  if  carried  out  will  do  more  harm  than 
good.     But  let  us  go  on  with  our  portraiture  :  — 

He  is  faithful,  my  good  boy  is.  You  can  trust  him. 
If  he  has  made  a  promise  —  and  he  never  makes  one 
that  is  not  right  —  he  will  fulfil  it,  if  it  is  within  the 
range  of  possibility.  He  is  ahvays  at  the  post  of  duty. 
How  does  that  please  you  ?  Do  you  prefer  a  boy  that 
you  cannot  trust,  —  one  that  lets  his  post  of  duty  take 
care  of  itself  ?  We  have  spoken  of  soldiers  in  the  face 
of  the  enemy :  who  do  you  think  would  make  the  best 
sentinel  ?  \\Tiom  would  you  rather  trust  your  life  to  as 
you  slept  around  the  bivouac  fire  ? 

He  is  grateful.  Grateful  to  all  his  benefactors,  coun- 
try, parents,  friends,  teachers,  and  playmates.  Do  him 
a  kindness,  and  see  how  he  will  receive  it.  Do  you  ad- 
mire ingratitude  ? 

He  is  hrave  and  manly.  He  is  not  afraid  to  do  his 
duty  even  in  the  face  of  ridicule  and,  if  it  should  come, 
cruel  persecution.  In  your  hearts,  what  do  you  think 
of  a  boy  or  a  man,  a  girl  or  a  woman,  who  is  afraid  to 
do  right  lest  he  should  be  laughed  at  ?  Do  you  think 
him  weak  or  strong,  wise  or  foolish,  noble  or  contempt- 
ible ? 

He  has  good  habits.  He  believes  he  has  duties  to 
himself  as  well  as  to  his  fellow-men.  Nay,  he  knows 
he  cannot  properly  discharge  his  duties  to  others  unless 
he  takes  proper  care  of  himself.     He  regards  his  mind, 


68  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

heart,  and  body  as  priceless  treasures  entrusted  to  his 
keeping ;  hence  he  does  all  he  can  to  keep  his  body 
healthy,  active,  and  strong,  his  mind  bright  and  clear, 
and  his  heart  warm,  pure,  and  unselfish.  Do  you  pre- 
fer the  boy  of  bad  habits,  who  enfeebles  his  body,  stu- 
pefies his  brain,  deadens  and  perverts  his  heart,  by 
unhealthful  indulgences  ?  Every  other  consideration 
aside,  which  would  naturally  make  the  more  agreeable 
companion  ?  Which  would  you  rather  do  a  summer's 
camping  with  ?  You  cannot  hesitate,  for  one  of  the 
inevitable  consequences  of  his  good  habits  is  that  — 

He  is  cheerful  and  light-hearted.  Troubles  that 
would  make  some  boys  miserable  he  laughs  at ;  bur- 
dens that  would  Aveigh  them  down  to  the  ground  he 
carries  as  if  they  were  feathers. 

Archibald  Watson.  Can't  a  boy  be  good  without  be- 
ing healthy,  strong,  and  bright  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  I  said  he  does  all  he  can  to  make  him- 
self healthy,  strong,  and  bright.  If  he  has  inherited  a 
feeble  body  or  brain,  he  may  at  least  cultivate  a  good 
heart  and  a  cheerful  temper ;  and  good  habits  will  re- 
duce his  misfortunes  to  their  minimum.  What  he  has 
not  received  he  will  not  be  held  accountable  for ;  the 
servant  who  had  received  but  one  talent  was  not  re- 
quired to  render  an  account  for  ten.  But  even  if  he  is 
not  naturally  vigorous,  he  may  be  all  I  have  described. 
Have  you  never  heard  of  feeble  invalids  who  have 
blessed  all  with  whom  they  came  into  contact  ? 


XIV. 
THE  KNIGHT  "SANS  PEUR  ET  SANS  REPROCHE." 

Dr.  Dix.  It  is  not  necessary  that  a  good  boy  should 
be  a  bedridden  invalid.  My  hero  does  not  happen  to 
be  unfortunate  in  any  such  way.  As  I  said,  he  might 
be  so  afflicted  and  yet  be  essentially  all  I  have  described 
him ;  but  so  long  as  he  is  not  he  enters  into  all  health- 
ful, invigorating  sports  with  twice  the  gusto  of  your 
scapegrace  with  enervating  habits. 

There  are  other  advantages  and  disadvantages,  be- 
sides natural  health  or  disease,  that  he  may  have,  which 
have  nothing  to  do  with  vice  or  virtue  save  as  they 
may  serve  as  temptations  to  the  one  or  inducements  to 
the  other.  For  instance,  he  may  be  poor  or  wealthy, 
handsome  or  ugly,  graceful  or  awkward,  witty  or  dull ; 
he  may  be  what  is  called  well  or  humbly  born.  These 
fortunate  and  unfcu'tunate  accidents,  like  the  sunshine 
and  the  rain  which  fall  alike  upon  the  just  and  the 
unjust,  are  pretty  evenly  distributed  by  Fortune  among 
the  good  and  the  bad,  although  I  repeat  in  this  connec- 
tion what  I  have  said  before  :  If  by  wit  is  meant  that 
which  is  so  often  coupled  with  wisdom,  you  will  find 
the  greater  share  of  it  where  you  will  find  the  greater 
share  of  its  twin  blessing,  wisdom,  —  among  the  good ; 
and  as  to  personal  beauty,  there  is  nothing  that  will  en- 
hance it  like  the  frank,  clear  eyes  and  healthy  vigor 
that  right  living  gives. 

Julia  Taylor.  I  have  heard  a  great  many  times  that 
vice  goes  Avith  poverty  and  ignorance ;  that  the  greater 
proportion  of  criminals  are  from  the  lower  classes.  If 
that  is  true,  it  seems  to  me  very  unjust. 


70  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Dr.  D'tx.  In  naming  certain  favorable  and  iinfavor- 
able  circumstances  which  have  nothing  to  do  with  vir- 
tue and  vice.  I  took  pains  to  add,  "  save  as  they  may 
serve  as  temptations  to  the  one  or  inducements  to  the 
other."  Great  as  are  the  temptations  of  wealth  and 
station  (and  the  advantages  which  go  with  them)  to 
certain  vices,  there  is  no  doubt  that  extreme  poverty 
and  ignorance  are  still  greater  temptations  to  other  and 
more  flagrant  sins.  Perhaps  I  should  have  said  these 
good  and  ill  conditions  are  pretty  evenly  distributed 
among  the  naturally  good  and  bad,  or  among  the  evil 
and  well  disposed.  Many  a  man  lives  a  fairly  good  life 
who  under  less  favorable  circumstances  might  be  a 
criminal.  Who  shall  say  that  he  is  really  a  better  man 
than  his  unfortunate  brother,  "  a  criminal  from  the 
lower  classes  "  ?  In  the  eyes  of  an  infallible  judge  the 
learned  dignitary  on  the  bench  may  be  worse  than  the 
miserable  wretch  he  sentences. 

But  let  us  return  to  our  typical  good  boy.  I  have 
heard  you  in  discussing  one  another  talk  about  such 
and  such  a  one's  being  a  "  mighty  good  fellow."  Let  us 
see  how  your  hero  compares  with  mine.  Tell  me  about 
your  ''  mighty  good  fellow."     What  does  he  do  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Well,  he  's  always  good-natured 
and  full  of  fun. 

Dr.  Dix.     Yes  ;  go  on. 

Archibald  Watson.  He  's  always  ready  to  share  his 
good  things  with  the  other  fellows. 

Jonathan  Totver.  He  's  always  ready  to  help  you  if 
you  're  in  trouble. 

Trumlmll  Butters.  He  is  n't  always  bothering  you, 
and  he  does  n't  look  down  on  you  if  he  is  richer  and 
smarter  than  you  are. 

James  Murphy.  He  does  n't  go  round  telling  every- 
thing he  knows  about  you. 

Joseph  Cracklin.  He  does  n't  flare  up  at  every  little 
thing  you  say  in  fun. 


SANS  PEUR  ET  SANS  REPROCHE.  71 

Charles  Fox.  He  knows  how  to  play  ball,  and  tramp, 
and  fish. 

Louisa  Thompson.  He  is  kind  and  accommodating 
to  his  sisters. 

Henry  Jones.  He  knows  how  to  tell  stories  and  do 
lots  of  other  things. 

James  Murphy.  He  would  n't  lie,  nor  steal,  nor  do 
anything  sneaking  any  more  than  he  'd  cut  his  head  off. 

Henry  Phillips.  He  's  bright  and  clever,  does  n't  say 
soft  things,  and  is  n't  afraid  of  anything. 

Dr.  Dix.  Except  what  is  bad.  In  short,  he  is  very 
much  the  same  sort  of  hero  I  have  been  describing. 
But  perhaps,  after  all,  he  does  things  my  good  fellow 
does  n't  do. 

Does  he  swear  a  round,  ringing  oath,  for  instance  ? 
Well,  mine  could  if  he  wanted  to.  It  does  n't  take  any 
great  amount  of  intellect  or  wit.  Your  good  fellow 
didn't  invent  swearing,  did  he?  so  he  can't  claim  ori- 
ginality, and  anybody  can  imitate.  A  parrot  can  be 
taught  to  swear  the  biggest  oath  that  ever  fell  from  the 
lips  of  a  pirate  or  a  stable  boy.  Does  your  good  fellow 
feel  proud  of  an  accomplishment  in  which  he  may  be 
overmatched  by  a  parrot  ? 

Perhaps  he  is  beginning  to  take  a  social  glass.  Well, 
what  superior  ability,  or  genius,  or  generosity  does  that 
show  ?  If  one  were  so  disposed,  it  could  be  done  as 
easily  as  to  take  a  glass  of  water ;  and  how  generosity 
can  be  shown  by  swallowing  anything  I  confess  I  am 
not  subtle  enough  to  understand.  Like  swearing, 
drinking  is  an  imitative  act.  I  once  heard  of  a  monkey 
who  could  toss  off  his  glass  of  v.^lne  as  jauntily  as  your 
jolliest  toper.  A  fine  type  of  good-fellowship  that ! 
But  Jocko  was  more  sensible  than  his  human  boon 
companions  ;  for  when,  at  last,  he  took  enough  to  give 
him  a  headache  the  next  morning,  he  knew  enough 
never  to  repeat  his  folly.  Few  men  are  as  sensible  as 
that. 


72  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

There  is  no  patent  on  drinking.  It  is  open  to  all. 
It  is  as  free  to  my  good  fellow  as  to  yours.  He  can 
drink  whiskey  or  strychnine,  or  cut  off  his  fingers  with 
a  hatchet,  if  he  chooses,  just  as  easily  as  your  good 
fellow  can. 

Perhaps  he  smokes.  Another  imitative  act,  to  which 
the  same  train  of  remark  will  apply,  including  the  mon- 
key. Perhaps  he  chews.  Faugh  !  We  will  draw  the 
line  there.  To  associate  good-fellowship,  in  any  sense 
of  the  phrase,  with  such  ineffable  nastiness  is  too  gross 
a  misapplication  of  terms  to  merit  a  moment's  discus- 
sion. 

Trumhull  Butters.  The  first  man  who  swore,  or 
drank,  or  smoked,  or  chewed,  did  n't  imitate. 

Dr.  Dix.  We  will  allow  him  the  full  credit  for  origi- 
nality. Let  him  have  whatever  credit  is  due  him  for 
his  invention  or  discovery. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  But,  Dr.  Dix,  I  don't  understand 
that  men  do  these  things  to  show  their  genius  or  origi- 
nality. 

Dr.  Dix.     What  do  they  do  them  for  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Why,  I  suppose  they  do  them  he- 
cause  they  enjoy  them. 

Dr.  Dix.  They  may  contimie  them  for  that  reason, 
but  that  is  not  why  they  begin  them.  No  human  being 
ever  enjoyed  his  first  glass  of  whiskey  or  his  first  cigar. 
As  to  the  first  profane  oath,  whatever  poor  satisfaction 
may  have  accompanied  it  mu.st  have  been  far  more  than 
offset  by  the  moral  shock,  the  inevitable  sense  of  sud- 
den degradation,  the  uneasy  consciousness  that  remained 
like  a  foul  taste  in  the  mouth.  No ;  men  don't  begin 
these  things  because  they  enjoy  them,  but  because  the}'- 
wish  to  be  thought  clever,  and  spirited,  and  jaunty,  and 
manly,  especially  —  like  the  parrot  and  the  monkey  — 
because  they  want  to  do  as  others  do. 

Joseph  Cracldin.  A  good  many  men  who  are  highly 
respected  both  smoke  and  chew. 


SANS  FEUR  ET  SANS  REPROCHE.  73 

Dr.  Dlx.  True.  Man  is  a  curious  animal.  He  has 
been  most  justly  called  a  bundle  of  inconsistencies. 
The  king  who  ranks  as  the  proverb  of  wisdom  did  some 
of  the  most  foolish  things. 

Such  habits  among  the  class  of  men  you  refer  to  sim- 
ply show  that  they  were  not  always  as  wise  as  they  are 
now.  There  was  a  time  when  they  were  foolish  boys. 
I  know  an  able  and  highly  esteemed  judge  who  has  a 
pirate  flag  with  skull  and  cross-bones  complete  tattooed 
on  his  left  arm.  It  only  serves  to  remind  him  of  his 
ante-college  days,  when  he  read  dime  novels  and  formed 
a  plan,  with  some  of  his  equally  wise  and  virtuoiis  cro- 
nies, to  run  away  to  sea,  seize  a  ship,  and  change  its 
name  to  "  The  Black  Scourge  of  the  Atlantic."  \_Laugh- 
ter.'] 

Archibald  Watson.  Were  they  going  to  kill  the  cap- 
tain and  mates  ? 

Dr.  Dlx.  I  believe  their  hardihood  did  n't  go  quite 
to  that  extent.  They  were  going  to  put  them  in  irons 
and  land  them  on  some  uninhabited  island,  I  believe. 

The  judge  that  I  told  you  of  smokes,  too,  and,  for 
aught  I  know,  chews.  He  looks  upon  both  his  pirate 
flag  and  his  tobacco  as  ineffaceable  scars  of  his  youthful 
folly. 

But  we  will  reserve  the  subject  of  Bad  Habits  for  a 
future  Talk.  I  want  to  say  a  word  more  about  my  hero, 
who,  though  every  inch  a  boy,  is  too  sensible  to  be 
caught  in  any  such  poorly  baited  trap  as  tobacco  and 
whiskey.  I  spoke  of  myself  as  a  hero-worshipper.  I 
regard  him  with  something  more  than  mere  approval 
and  admiration.  When  I  see  the  fine  scorn  with  which 
he  refuses  to  speak  or  even  act  the  smallest  lie,  the 
hearty  cheerfulness  with  which  he  prefers  the  comfort 
and  pleasure  of  others  to  his  own,  the  pluck  and  energy 
with  which  he  attacks  every  obstacle  in  his  path  or 
duty,  his  inexhaustible  store  of  boyish  fun  and  good 
humor,  and  especially  when  I  see  his  unassuming  mod- 


T4  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

esty,  as  if  he  were  utterly  unconscious  of  doing  or  being 
anytliing  particularly  worthy  of  praise,  how  can  I  help 
being  a  hero-worshipper  ?  I  can  admire  a  beautiful 
landscape  or  a  beautiful  statue,  but  a  beautiful  so^d  I 
can  more  than  admire,  —  I  can  love  it. 

Nothing  is  beautiful  or  lovable  that  is  not  good. 
Beautiful  evil  exists  only  in  poetry  and  romance.  We 
may  admire  the  picturesque  villain  on  the  stage  or  in 
the  novel,  but  in  actual  life  we  only  abhor  him.  Mil- 
ton's magnihcent  Satan,  Goethe's  clever  Mephistopheles, 
would  be  simply  horrible  as  realities.  The  thoroughly 
bad,  if  there  were  such,  would  never  love,  even  among 
themselves  ;  they  would  herd  together  simply  for  the 
advantage  of  concerted  action  ;  when  they  had  no  com- 
mon j)rey  outside  they  would  prey  upon  one  another. 
Even  if  they  were  capable  of  love,  —  other  than  that 
purely  selfish  passion  miscalled  by  that  name,  —  there 
would  be  nothing  to  call  it  forth,  for  even  the  worst 
people  love  only  what  is  good,  real  or  imaginary,  in  one 
another.  Kindness,  generosity,  self-sacrifice,  fidelity, 
square-dealing,  bravery,  strength,  wit,  and  beauty,  — 
these,  and  such  as  these,  are  the  qualities  that  are  really 
loved  among  either  the  good  or  the  bad. 


XV. 

THE  ATTRACTIVENESS  OF  VICE. 

Dr.  Dix. 

"  Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
As,  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  be  seen." 

Would  it  were  always  so  !  Too  often,  however,  the 
fact  is  exactly  the  reverse.  The  "  monster  "  generally 
approaches  with  a  most  charming  front,  a  most  fascinat- 
ing smile,  and  the  "  frightful  mien  "  is  assumed  when 
it  is  too  late  to  escape  from  her  clutches.  No,  not  quite 
that ;  it  is  never  too  late  to  escape,  if  the  victim  is 
only  willing  to  make  the  supreme  effort. 

Her  charming  front,  her  fascinating  smile,  is  a  clever 
disguise.  She  must  needs  put  it  on,  else  she  would 
never  secure  her  prey.  In  order  that  temptations  may 
tempt  they  must  be  tempting ;  only  gudgeons  are  silly 
enough  to  be  caught  with  a  bare  hook. 

Boys,  do  any  of  you  look  with  admiration  and  envy 
upon  what  is  known  as  the  "  fast  young  man  "  ?  Do  any 
of  you  look  forward  to  the  time  when  you  hope  to  be 
as  gay  and  reckless  as  he  ?  Look  a  little  further ;  you 
may  see  him  in  all  stages  of  his  career.  The  wretched 
old  sot  that  you  all  view  with  pity,  horror,  and  disgust 
was  once  as  gay  and  debonair  as  he. 

Girls,  do  any  of  you  find  him  your  most  agreeable 
and  fascinating  companion  ?  The  poor,  starved,  terri- 
fied wife,  fleeing  for  her  life,  once  looked  with  your 
eyes  and  listened  with  your  ears.  She  no  longer  re- 
gards with  secret  admiration  the  gay  young  gallant  toss- 
ing off  his  glass  of  sparkling  wine.  There's  no  cure 
like  satiety. 


76  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

There  is  a  time  in  all  communities  when  every  one, 
wlietlier  ordinarily  inclined  to  smile  indulgently  upon 
the  ''  fast  young  man "  or  not,  turns  to  him  the  cold 
shoulder.  It  is  when  some  terrible  crime  has  filled 
every  heart  with  horror  and  with  loathing.  It  is  then, 
if  never  before,  that  men  of  true  and  tried  worth  are 
appreciated  at  their  real  value.  Then  the  common  heart 
goes  out,  not  to  brilliant  recklessness  or  graceful  vice 
of  any  kind,  but  to  unfailing  virtue.  No  matter  how 
dull,  awkward,  or  simple  a  man  may  be,  if  he  be  only 
true  and  good.  Then  every  man's  life  and  character  are 
rigidly  scrutinized  in  the  universal  questioning  as  to 
who  may  next  turn  out  a  villain. 

But  it  is  not  at  such  times  alone  that  this  is  the  ques- 
tion deep  doAvn  in  every  heart.  There  is  never  an  hour 
when  the  man  of  tried  virtue  and  steady  sobriety  of 
habits  is  not  more  in  demand  in  all  the  real  business  of 
life  than  his  dissolute  neighbor,  however  gay  and  fasci- 
nating. There  is  never  an  hour  when  you  will  not 
place  your  life  and  property  in  the  keeping  of  a  man 
distinguished  for  the  homely  virtues,  rather  than  in 
that  of  the  most  brilliant  reprobate  that  ever  tossed  off 
his  glass  of  sparkling  champagne.       ■■ 

George  JVilliams.  Dr.  Dix,  allow  me  to  say  that  I 
think  there  are  a  great  many  exceptions  to  the  rule  you 
have  just  stated.  I  can  name  a  long  list  of  names  of 
men  of  notoriously  vicious  habits,  who  nevertheless 
seem  to  have  been  trusted  in  the  most  important  affairs 
of  life.  They  have  been  employed  to  carry  into  execu- 
tion great  financial  schemes,  to  command  armies,  and 
especially  to  manage  affairs  of  state. 

Dr.  Dix.  I  see  that  I  have  not  made  my  meaning  quite 
plain.  I  compared  the  man  of  homely  virtue  with  the 
man  of  brilliant  vice.  I  emphasized  the  homeliness  of 
the  one  and  the  brilliancy  of  the  other.  Perhaps  this 
was  hardly  fair  to  the  former.  I  have  already  enlarged 
upon  the  fact  that  vice  has  no  monopoly  of  the  intellect 


THE  ATTRACTIVENESS  OF   VICE.  77 

and  energy  of  the  world ;  on  the  contrary,  I  have  shown 
that  virtuous  living  conduces  directly  to  the  development 
of  power,  while  vicious  living  tends  as  directly  to  its 
enervation.  Of  course,  stupidity  and  ignorance,  how- 
ever combined  with  virtue,  cannot  be  trusted  to  accom- 
plish results  that  demand  intelligence  and  skill ;  but  if 
I  implied  that  my  man  of  homely  virtue  was  lacking  in 
intelligence  and  skill,  I  certainly  did  not  intend  to  do 
so.  I  emphasized  the  brilliancy  of  the  other,  but  it  was 
the  brilliancy  of  vice,  not  of  intelligence,  —  the  fasci- 
nating personal  presence,  and  low  cunning  in  the  execu- 
tion of  dishonorable  schemes,  that  distinguish  many 
famous  but  unprincipled  men.  I  also  emphasized  the 
homeliness  of  virtue,  but  I  used  the  word  in  no  reproach- 
ful sense.  There  is  a  sort  of  homeliness  that  we  all 
value,  admire,  and  trust.  When  a  heavy  structure  is  to 
be  supported,  the  homeliness  of  the  solid  granite  column 
is  always  preferred  to  the  painting  and  gilding  of  the 
hollow  shaft  of  wood. 

Again,  I  have  said  that  few  men  are  utterly  bad. 
Those  who  are  known  to  be  so  are  never  trusted  — 
nowadays  at  least  —  with  "great  financial  schemes," 
"  the  command  of  armies,"  or  "  the  affairs  of  state." 
Men  may  have  "notoriously  vicious  habits"  united 
with  great  intellectual  power,  but  they  must  have  —  or 
at  least  must  be  believed  to  have  —  enough  moral  prin- 
ciple behind  it  all  to  render  them  safe,  or  they  will  not 
be  trusted.  Whatever  a  man's  talents  may  be,  if  he  is 
of  doubtful  moral  character  the  question  will  always  be, 
in  any  of  the  affairs  you  have  named,  is  his  ability 
preeminent  enough  to  make  it  worth  while  to  run  the 
risk  of  his  possible  rascality  ? 

In  order  that  two  things  may  be  justly  compared,  they 
must  be  compared  jjer  se,  ceteris  paribus.^  Given  equal 
ability  and  skill  (and  among  these  I  do  not  include  the 
tinsel  brilliancy  of  the  "fast  young  man"  or  that  of 

1  By  themselves,  other  things  being  equal. 


78  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

the  more  developed  rascal  of  later  years),  vice  stands  no 
chance  whatever  in  the  competition  with  virtue,  either 
in  matters  of  finance,  war,  or  statesmanship. 

Josejih  CracMln.  Sometimes  the  low  cunning  of  the 
rascal  that  you  have  spoken  of  is  the  very  quality  that 
is  needed  to  carry  forward  an  enterprise  ;  then  which 
stands  the  best  chance  ? 

Dr.  Dlx.  I  have  been  speaking  of  the  community  of 
respectable,  honest  citizens,  not  of  thieves  and  robbers. 

Jonathan  Tower.  You  remarked  a  few  minutes  ago 
that  men  who  are  known  to  be  thoroughly  bad  are  not 
trusted  with  the  management  of  great  enterprises  noiv- 
adays ;  was  there  ever  a  time  when  they  were  ?  I 
mean,  of  course,  among  civilized  nations. 

Dr.  Dlx.  Civilized  nations  have  not  always  been  as 
good  and  wise  as  they  are  to-day.  The  centuries  have 
not  passed  in  vain.  Yes,  Tower,  great  villains  have 
been  trusted  over  and  over  again,  and  always  with  the 
same  result :  final  disaster  to  themselves  and  to  those 
who  trusted  them.  By  bitter  experience  men  have 
learned  that  nothing  is  to  be  hoped  from  cupidity  and 
selfish  ambition,  unredeemed  by  some  degree,  at  least, 
of  honor  and  patriotism,  however  great  may  be  the  tal- 
ents which  accompan}^  them. 

Jonathan  Tower.  Was  not  Napoleon  I.  a  great  vil- 
lain, and  yet  was  he  not  of  incalculable  benefit,  not 
only  to  France,  but  to  the  world  ? 

Dr.  Dlx.  The  fact  that  he  was  the  means  of  so  much 
good  proves  conclusively  to  my  mind  that  he  was  not 
an  unmitigated  villain.  No  doubt  his  own  glory  was 
first  in  his  heart,  but  that  of  France  was  at  least  sec- 
ond ;  and  ambitious  as  he  was,  I  do  not  believe  he  would 
ever  have  consented  to  raise  himself  upon  the  ruins  of 
his  country.  Remember,  too,  that  Napoleon  I.  had  his 
Moscow,  his  "Waterloo,  and  his  St.  Helena.  But  there 
are  not  wanting  in  history  examples  of  ambition  as  tow- 
ering as  his.     Alexander  raised  his  country  to  the  pin- 


THE  ATTRACTIVENESS  OF  VICE.  79 

nacle  of  magnificence,  only,  by  refusing  to  appoint  his 
heir,  to  pull  it  down  at  his  death  about  the  heads  of  his 
successors,  as  Samson  pulled  down  the  temple  of  the 
Philistines. 

Thus  it  has  always  been,  and  thus  it  always  will 
be.  A  thoroughly  unprincipled  and  selfish  man  can  be 
trusted  only  so  long  as  his  own  interests  are  subserved 
with  the  interests  of  those  who  trust  him. 

Upon  the  Athenian  Alcibiades  both  iSTature  and  For- 
tune seemed  to  vie  with  each  other  in  showering  their 
richest  gifts.  Brilliant  and  powerful  in  intellect,  cour- 
ageous and  energetic  in  character,  vigorous  and  graceful 
in  body,  of  unbounded  wealth  and  most  noble  ancestry, 
he  was  indeed  a  paragon  among  that  race  of  paragons. 
Who  can  hel^j  being  deeply  interested  in  such  a  charac- 
ter ?  As  we  read  his  story,  how  we  long  to  learn  that 
he  was  as  honorable,  prosperous,  and  happy  as  he  was 
clever,  brave,  and  beautiful !  But  how  our  admiration 
cools  as  we  follow  him  through  his  career  of  heart- 
less ambition,  ingratitude,  and  treachery,  till  we  have 
scarcely  pity  left  for  his  tragic  death  and  ignominious 
burial ! 

What  a  life,  and  what  a  death !  How  glorious  they 
might  have  been  had  those  marvellous  intellectual  and 
physical  endowments  been  accompanied  by  a  pure 
heart !  As  it  was,  they  were  like  instruments  of  exqui- 
site workmanship,  capable  of  doing  great  good  or  evil 
according  as  they  are  in  good  or  evil  hands. 


XVI, 
CEEEPING,  WALKING,  AND  FLYING. 

Br.  Dix.  One  of  the  most  powerful  orations  I  ever 
listened  to  was  a  New  Year's  sermon.  The  speaker, 
already  renowned  for  his  burning  eloquence,  surpassed 
himself.  He  seemed  like  one  inspired.  li'rom  begin- 
ning to  end  his  audience  sat  rapt,  almost  breathless,  in 
their  eagerness  not  to  lose  a  drop  of  that  flashing  stream 
of  eloquence.  It  seemed  impossible  that  there  should 
have  been  one  in  that  multitude  who  could  resist  the 
appeal ;  as  if  every  one  must  perforce  resolve  from  that 
day  to  live  the  noble  life  so  graphically  pictured  to 
them. 

On  our  way  home  I  said  something  like  this  to  a 
middle-aged  friend  of  mine.  He  admitted  the  power  of 
the  address,  ''but,"  said  he,  "it  won't  last.  By  to- 
morrow night  nine  tenths  of  it  will  be  forgotten.  I 
used  to  become  an  immaculate  saint  every  Kew  Year's ; 
but  I  got  over  that  long  ago.  I  found  it  was  of  no  use. 
It 's  easy  enough  to  talk  about  flying  into  the  upper  air, 
but  when  it  comes  to  the  actual  flying  —  we  find  we 
have  n't  got  the  wings." 

"And  so,"  I  said,  "you  think  such  discourses  as  we 
have  heard  to-day  do  no  good  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  say  that,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  did  n't  say 
it  would  all  be  forgotten,  —  I  said  nine  tenths.  And 
then  even  a  temporary  lift  is  better  than  no  lift.  If  it 
does  n't  permanently  raise  us,  perhaps  it  keeps  us  f  j-om 
sinking  lower.  If  our  consciences  did  n't  get  a  stirring 
uj)  once  in  a  while  they  would  die  from  stagnation." 

His  comparison  was  a  very  good  one.     As  our  bodies 


CREEPING,    WALKING,  AND  FLYING.  81 

are  held  clown  to  earth  by  gravitation,  so  our  souls  are 
held  down  by  our  passions  and  appetites,  and  especially 
by  the  never-ceasing  gravitation  of  habit.  A  stone 
thrown  upward  by  a  single  impulse  will  quickly  come 
down  again :  in  order  to  continue  its  ascent  there  must 
be  constant  applications  of  power,  like  the  beats  of  the 
eagle's  wings  as  he  soars  towards  the  heavens. 

Frederick  Fox.  What  good  does  it  do  to  throw  the 
stone  up  at  all  ?  It  will  come  down  again  just  as  low  as 
it  was  before. 

Dr.  Dix.  It  may,  and  it  may  not.  It  may  be  thrown 
from  the  bottom  of  a  well  to  the  surface,  thence  to 
the  house-top,  thence  to  the  hill-top,  thence  by  succes- 
sive throws  to  the  mountain-top. 

The  moral  world  is  no  more  truly  a  plain  than  the 
physical  world.  It  has  its  deep  abysses,  its  hills,  its 
mountains,  and  —  its  clouds.  We  cannot  rest  in  the 
moral  clouds  any  more  than  we  can  in  the  physical 
clouds.  Even  the  eagle  with  his  mighty  wings  must  find 
his  permanent  resting-place  upon  the  solid  earth ;  but 
he  does  not  rest  in  the  depths  "of  the  mines  nor  in  the 
valleys  ;  his  eyry  is  high  up  among  the  mountain  crags. 

The  inspiring  oration  I  told  you  of  was  a  single  im- 
pulse upward.  W^ith  some  of  those  who  heard  it  the 
fall  backward  may  have  been  to  the  same  old  level,  or 
even  to  a  lower  one  ;  but  it  need  not  have  been.  Some 
of  them  doubtless  were  permanently  lifted.  But,  as  I 
said,  the  ascent  could  not  continue  without  constant  up- 
ward impulses,  new  efforts  every  day,  like  the  beating 
of  wings.  Even  those  who  were  permanently  lifted 
maintained  their  vantage-ground  only  by  clinging  and 
bracing  themselves  ;  for,  remember,  the  path  of  virtue  is 
up  a  steep  mountain  side.  Few,  if  any,  ever  reach  the 
summit.  Remember  also  that  the  mountain  is  a  mound, 
not  a  cone  nor  a  pyramid.  The  path  is  steepest  at  the 
bottom :  the  higher  we  climb,  the  easier  the  climbing 
and  the  firmer  the  foothold. 


82  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Have  these  Talks,  or  others  that  you  have  heard, 
or  books  that  you  have  read,  influenced  any  of  you  to 
make  good  resolutions  which  seemed  at  first  easy  to 
carry  out,  but  which  afterward  proved  too  difficult  for 
you  ?  And  have  you,  therefore,  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  there  is  no  use  in  trying  further  ? 

As  my  friend  said,  there  is  a  vast  difference  between 
talking  and  doing ;  between  laying  out  a  course  of  ac- 
tion  and  carrying  it  into  execution. 

Suppose  a  weak-armed  boy  should  say  with  desperate 
resolution,  "  I  will  lift  that  weight ! "  Suppose  a 
young  mathematician  should  clinch  his  teeth  together 
and  say  to  himself,  "  I  will  solve  that  problem !  "  Then 
suppose,  on  making  the  trial,  both  should  find  that  they 
had  resolved  to  do  the  impossible  :  would  that  be  a  suf- 
ficient reason  why  they  should  give  up  trying  ?  No  : 
let  them  begin  with  tasks  within  their  power  ;  let  them 
do  what  is  possible.  They  will  find  as  time  goes  on  that 
they  can  do  more  and  more,  until  finally  the  big  weight 
is  lifted  and  the  eclipse  calculated.  And  let  them  re- 
member all  this  time  that  if  they  do  their  best  each 
day,  the  lifting  of  the  little  weight  at  first  is  as  merito- 
rious as  the  final  magnificent  feat. 

Archibald  Watson.  You  have  been  telling  us  the 
story  of  Milo  and  his  calf. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes,  indirectly.  Now  give  me  as  famous 
an  illustration  of  the  exactly  opposite. 

Jane  Simjjson.    The  eyeless  fishes  in  Mammoth  Cave. 

Dr.  Dix.     Yes, — another. 

Helen  Sawyer.     The  slave-holding  ants  of  Texas. 

Dr.  Dix.     Tell  us  about  them. 

Helen  Saicyer.  After  generations  of  dependence  they 
have  become  so  helpless  that  they  cannot  even  feed 
themselves,  and  must  die  of  starvation  in  the  midst  of 
abundant  food  when  deprived  of  their  slaves. 

Dr.  Dix.  An  unhappy  condition  which  is  almost  ex- 
actly paralleled  by  some  classes  of  human  society,  people 


CREEPING,    WALKING,  AND  FLYING.  83 

who  both  by  inheritance  and  hal)it  have  become  so  de- 
pendent upon  their  wealth,  and  the  immunity  from  all 
kinds  of  effort  which  wealth  secures,  that  when  sud- 
denly deprived  of  it  they  are  totally  helpless :  mental, 
moral,  and  physical  idleness  have  so  enervated  them 
that  they  cannot  do  by  a  supreme  effort  what  the  man 
brought  up  to  labor  does  almost  without  effort. 

Suppose  one  of  these  unhappy  beings,  who  has  inher- 
ited mental,  moral,  and  physical  helplessness  from  a 
line  of  wealthy  and  idle  ancestors,  should  chance  to 
hear  an  eloquent  discourse  on  the  nobility  and  advan- 
tages of  labor;  and  suppose  that,  in  the  enthusiasm 
kindled  by  the  eloquence,  he  should  form  a  sudden  reso- 
lution to  live  thenceforth  a  life  of  steady  industry.  He 
begins  with  plenty  of  zeal  and  spasmodic  energ}^ ;  but 
in  a  few  days  —  in  a  few  hours,  it  may  be  —  his  zeal  has 
burnt  itself  out  and  his  feeble  energies  are  exhausted. 
The  result  is  inevitable.  It  is  not  enough  to  exercise 
the  will-power.  That  is  always  able  to  choose  between 
right  and  wrong  ;  but  not  to  do  an  impossibility  is  not 
wrong.  It  is  not  enough  to  will  to  do  ;  there  must  also 
be  the  well-woven  fibres  of  brain,  muscle,  and  heart  to 
execute. 

Henry  PhlUips.  Then  is  his  good  resolution  of  no 
use  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  That  is  what  I  am  coming  to.  He  receives 
a  sudden,  powerful  impulse  upward ;  must  he  necessa- 
rily fall  back  to  his  former  level  or  to  a  lower  one  ? 
No  ;  let  him  retain  some  of  the  vantage  that  has  been 
given  him,  if  it  is  but  a  step.  Then  let  him  take  an- 
other step  upward.  Since  he  cannot  fly,  let  him  climb; 
if  he  cannot  walk,  he  can  at  least  creep  upward. 


XVII. 

THE  DOCTOR  IS  FAIRLY  CAUGHT. 

Dr.  Dix.  Confession  after  detection  is  not  generally 
very  highly  credited.  If  any  of  you  acknowledge  mis- 
chief that  I  have  already  detected,  you  hardly  expect 
me  to  make  much  allowance  on  account  of  the  confes- 
sion. Kow,  scholars,  I  have  a  confession  and  an  expla- 
nation to  make  to  you.  The  confession  is  not  worth 
much  for  the  reason  I  have  given,  —  I  have,  heen  fairly 
caught.  \_Sensation.']  But  the  explanation  and  what 
else  I  have  to  say  will  be,  I  hope,  of  some  use  to  you. 

Last  evening  as  I  sat  in  my  study,  not  expecting 
visitors  on  account  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  one  of 
you  paid  me  a  business  call  and  caught  me  in  flagrante 
delicto.'^  I  was  in  the  very  act  of  smoking  a  cigar. 
There  was  no  escape ;  it  would  have  availed  nothing 
to  throw  the  solid  evidence  of  my  offence  into  the  grate 
or  out  of  the  window,  for  the  air  was  thick  with  odor- 
ous, 3^ea,  visible  evidence,  convincing  and  strong.  True, 
I  might  have  left  it  uncertain  as  to  whether  the  pungent 
fumes  which  filled  the  room  had  issued  from  my  own 
lips  or  from  those  of  some  recent  visitor  to  whom  I  had 
hospitably  allowed  the  liberty.  I  confess  that,  when  I 
heard  the  rap  on  my  door  and  saw  through  the  glass 
the  familiar  form  of  one  of  my  pupils,  such  a  thought 
flashed  through  my  mind  ;  but  I  scorned  to  act  on  the 
thought.  I  w^as  smoking  when  the  lad  knocked,  —  T 
continued  smoking  after  he  had  entered.  To  tell  the 
truth,  however,  I  was  not  so  unconcerned  as  I  appeared. 
I  marked  the  look  of  surprised  inquiry  in  his  eyes,  and 
^  In  the  commission  of  the  crime. 


THE  DOCTOR  IS  FAIRLY  CAUGHT.  85 

felt  a  twinge  of  self-reproach  and  —  shall  I  confess  it  ? 
—  shame.  I  don't  think  these  feelings  were  so  much 
due  to  the  fact  that  he  had  seen  me  smoking  as  to  the 
fact  that  he  had  caught  me  doing  what  he  doubtless 
supposed  I  would  rather  conceal.  My  feeling  would 
have  been  very  diiferent  if  he  had  seen  me  smoking  in 
the  open  street,  —  though  that  is  a  thing  that  I  should 
not  think  of  doing  any  more  than  I  should  think  of 
drinking  a  cup  of  coffee. in  the  open  street. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Would  you  have  felt  the  same  if 
he  had  seen  you  drinking  a  cup  of  coffee  in  your  study  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  I  should  have  had  no  feeling  of  any  sort 
in  that  case. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Why  should  you  have  had  any 
more  in  regard  to  the  cigar  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  Do  you  include  coffee 
and  cigars  in  the  same  category  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Many  people  hold  that  both  are 
injurious  to  the  health. 

Dr.  Dix.     But  not  equally  so. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Then  the  difference  in  the  fault  is 
only  in  degree,  not  in  kind. 

Dr.  Dix.  jSTo,  Jenkins  ;  I  thank  you  for  trying  to 
palliate  my  fault,  but  I  don't  think  I  will  accept  your 
defence,  —  not  until  we  have  considered  the  matter  fur- 
ther, at  all  events. 

So  far  as  my  rights  and  privileges  are  concerned,  I 
suppose  no  one  would  charge  me  with  transcending 
them.  If  I  choose  to  indulge  in  what  I  must  acknow- 
ledge to  be  a  bad  habit,  in  the  privacy  of  my  own  sanc- 
tum, I  have  the  undoubted  right  —  liberty,  I  should  say ; 
there  is  a  great  difference  between  a  right  and  a  \\h- 
erty  —  to  do  so.  Furthermore,  1  don't  know  that  I  am 
under  any  moral  obligation  to  publish  it  abroad.  Hith- 
erto I  have  not  felt  bound  to  tell  you  that  I  smoke  my 
cigar  nearly  every  evening  and  Saturday  morning,  any 
more  than  I  have  felt  bound  to  tell  you  what  I  am  in 


86  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

the  habit  of  ordering  for  my  supper.  But  there  is  this 
difference  :  I  don't  care  whether  you  know  what  my 
supper  consists  of  or  not,  while  I  would  much  rather 
you  should  not  have  discovered  that  I  smoke. 

Joseph  Cracklhi.  Why  need  you  have  mentioned  it, 
then  ?  The  boy  who  called  on  you  would  probably 
never  have  spoken  of  it  to  any  one. 

Dr.  Dix.  That  my  miserable  habit  has  made  such  a 
thought  as  you  suggest  possible  is  punishment  indeed  ! 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Why  would  you  rather  we  should 
not  know  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Why  would  I  rather  you  should  not  know 
I  smoke  ?  Chiefly  for  two  reasons  :  First,  because  I  am. 
thoroughly  ashamed  of  it. 

Louisa  Thompson.  We  all  know  that  you  were  a  sol- 
dier in  the  war,  and  everybody  was  always  willing  to 
excuse  him  for  smoking. 

Dr.  Dix.  No,  no,  no  !  that  was  no  excuse,  I  learned 
to  smoke  long  before  I  went  into  the  army.  I  suppose 
as  a  foolish  boy  I  was  as  proud  of  it  as  I  am  ashamed 
of  it  now. 

But  the  other  reason  is  a  much  more  important  one. 
I  would  not  under  any  consideration  be  the  means  of 
influencing  any  one  —  least  of  all  one  of  those  whom 
it  is  my  special  duty  and  pleasure  to  benefit  in  all  ways 
within  my  power  —  to  form  a  habit  which  I  know  does; 
no  one  any  good  and  is  the  cause  of  great  injury  to 
many.  It  is  with  the  hope  that  I  may  not  only  coun- 
teract the  unfavorable  influence  which  the  discovery 
of  my  weakness  might  exert  among  you,  but  even  do 
much  positive  good  besides,  that  I  decided  to  make  it 
the  subject  of  our  Talk  this  morning. 

I  have  at  least  this  advantage,  boys :  I  can  speak 
from  actual  personal  experience.  I  wish  you  to  observe 
in  the  mean  time  that  all  that  1  say  in  regard  to  the  for- 
mation and  growth  of  the  habit  and  the  increasing  dif- 
ficulty of  relinquishing  it  applies  with  equal  force  to 


THE  DOCTOR  IS  FAIRLY  CAUGHT.  87 

any  other  habit.  So  we  may  consider  our  Talk  to  be 
upon  the  general  subject  of 

HABITS, 

illustrated  by  one  of  them.  None  of  you  may  ever 
fall  into  this  particular  one,  — I  sincerely  hope  you  may 
not,  —  but  all  of  you  have  already  formed  others,  good 
and  bad,  and  as  you  grow  older  you  will  form  still 
others.  In  fact,  the  greater  part  of  all  we  do  is  the 
result  of  habits. 

I  see,  by  the  way,  that  I  was  wrong  in  my  conjecture. 
A  few  tell-tale  smiles  and  expressive  glances  show  that 
some  of  you  have  already  begun  to  forge  the  same 
chains  about  you  that  I  am  wearing.  Well,  boys,  let 
me  assure  you  that  you  will  not  always  feel  as  compla- 
cent over  them  as  you  evidently  feel  now.  The  time 
will  come  when  some  of  you,  if  you  keep  on  as  you 
have  begun,  will  feel  as  I  feel  at  this  moment,  —  willing 
to  make  almost  any  sacrifice  to  break  your  fetters,  al- 
most any  sacrifice  short  of  —  breaking  them. 

And,  girls,  though  none  of  you  may  ever  be  tempted 
to  smoke  cigarettes  or  to  color  a  meerschaum,  jet  there 
are  plenty  of  other  temptations  that  you  must  meet. 
So  if  you  mentally  substitute  them  for  tobacco  you  may 
profit  by  tliis  Talk  as  well  as  the  boys. 

To  illustrate  the  subject,  I  shall  give  you  now  and 
then  choice  bits  of  my  own  experience  with  the  fasci- 
nating tyrant,  which  will  perhaps  help  you  better  to 
judge  for  yourselves  whether  it  is  worth  while  to  culti- 
vate his  acquaintance  or  to  let  him  alone. 

I  learned  to  smoke  when  I  was  at  Grantham  Academy 
fitting  for  college.  I  don't  remember  that  my  conscience 
rebelled  in  the  least  at  that  time.  I  don't  think  the 
question  as  to  whether  I  was  doing  right  or  wrong  even 
entered  my  mind.  I  saw  other  boys  puffing  their  cigars, 
and,  partly  from  the  instinct  of  imitation,  which  leads 
us  all  more  or  less  slavishly  to  "  follow  the  fashion," 


88  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

partly  because  it  seemed  inanly,  debonair,  I  heroically 
endured  the  agonies  of  initiation  into  the  practice. 
*'  Agonies  "  is  none  too  strong  a  word,  as  I  fear  some  of 
you  already  know  from  your  own  experience.  Boys, 
ought  not  that  very  experience  to  teach  us  what  a  ter- 
rible violation  of  nature  we  were  committing  ?  What 
but  a  deadly  poison  attacking  the  very  citadel  of  life 
could  blanch  our  faces,  cover  our  brows  with  cold  sweat, 
and  send  that  mortal  sickness  through  our  vitals  ? 
True,  Nature  speedily  adapts  herself  to  the  new  condi- 
tion ;  that  is,  she  no  longer  warns  us  so  energetically 
of  the  true  character  of  the  enemy  we  have  admitted 
within  our  walls.  The  outside  sentinel  has  been  slain  ! 
But  the  enemy  is  no  less  deadly  for  that. 

Isabelle  Anthony.  This  morning's  "  Freetown  Pa- 
triot "  tells  of  a  young  man,  a  graduate  of  this  school, 
who  died  a  day  or  two  ago  of  "  tobacco-heart." 

Lucy  Snoiv.  And  it  was  only  a  week  ago,  I  think, 
that  I  read  of  another  who  became  insane  from  exces- 
sive cigarette  smoking. 

Archibald  Watson.  If  the  tobacco  habit  keeps  on  at 
this  rate,  it  bids  fair  to  become  almost  as  fatal  as  tight- 
lacing.     \_Laughte)'.'\ 

Susan  Perkins.  Or  champagne  and  absinthe  drink- 
ing. 

Frederick  Fox.     Or  low  necks  and  pneumonia. 

Dr.  Dix.  Both  sexes  have  their  full  burden  of  re- 
sponsibility for  suicidal  practices.  As  I  said,  in  our 
onslaught  upon  tobacco  we  will  include  all  bad  habits 
and  practices. 

The  authorities  of  the  Naval  Academy  at  Annapolis 
tell  us  that  an  appallingly  large  percentage  of  their 
applicants  for  admission  are  rejected  because  their  con- 
stitutions have  become  irreparably  injured  by  smoking. 

Julia  Taylor.  What  a  frightful  sound  there  is  in 
that  phrase  '■'■  tobacco-heart  "  !  It  quite  makes  my  blood 
run  cold. 


THE  DOCTOR  IS  FAIRLY  CAUGHT.  89 

Dr.  Dlx.  Indeed,  it  lias  a  frightful  sound !  How  it 
brings  up  before  the  imagination  the  human  heart,  that 
wonderful  organ,  so  gigantic  in  its  power,  so  delicate  in 
its  construction,  struggling  like  a  bird  in  the  coils  of 
some  venomous  reptile  !  Ko  wonder  your  blood  runs 
cold  as  you  realize  its  true  meaning.  And  yet  so 
mighty  is  the  force  of  the  habit,  so  completely  do  men 
become  enslaved  by  it,  that,  with  the  full  realization  of 
its  evils  and  dangers,  they  scarcely  make  an  effort  to 
escape.  I  once  heard  a  brilliant  young  physician  des- 
cant volubly  upon  the  nerve-and-heart-paralyzing  ef- 
fects of  tobacco.  "  In  no  other  form,"  said  he,  "  is  the 
poison  so  effective,  so  penetrating,  as  in  that  of  smoke." 
He  then  slowly  filled  his  mouth  from  the  cigar  that 
he  had  been  puffing  all  through  his  talk,  and  blew  it 
through  his  white  handkerchief.  "  There,"  he  said,  ex- 
hibiting with  evident  satisfaction  the  deep  brown  stain 
which  the  smoke  had  left,  "  that  is  pure  nicotine,  one 
of  the  deadliest  poisons  known  to  my  profession.  Im- 
agine that  in  contact  with  the  mucous  membrane  of  my 
mouth  and  lungs  by  the  hour,  as  it  was  for  a  second 
with  the  threads  of  my  handkerchief ! " 

Knowing  its  nature  and  effect  so  thoroughly,  why 
did  n't  he  spurn  it  from  him  as  he  would  have  spurned 
any  other  poison  ?  Ah,  none  but  the  slave  of  habit 
knows  the  completeness  of  its  mastery  ! 

Mary  Rice.  I  don't  think  we  girls  are  in  danger  of 
ever  forming  habits  that  will  affect  us  in  that  way. 

Dr.  Dlx.  I  trust  you  never  may.  But  there  are 
other  drugs  even  more  disastrous  in  their  effects  than 
tobacco,  to  whose  slavery  thousands  of  both  sexes  fall 
victims.  Let  me  remind  you  all  again,  boys  and  girls 
alike,  that,  though  I  am  speaking  of  one  habit  in  par- 
ticular, what  I  say  applies  with  even  greater  force  to 
many  others,  —  in  a  measure  to  all.  xib  uno  disclte 
omnes.^ 

1  From  one  ieam  all. 


XVIII. 
THE  CHAINS  OF  HABIT. 

Frederick  Fox.  Dr.  Dix,  are  the  habits  you  spoke  of 
last  Wednesday  morning  immoral  simply  because  they 
injure  the  health  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  That  reason  alone  would  be  enough  ;  but 
there  are  other  reasons.     "What  are  some  of  them  ? 

IsubeJle  Anthoyiy.  They  are  an  annoyance  to  our 
neighbors. 

Dr.  Dix.  Some  of  them  most  certainly  are  :  perhaps 
if  we  should  consider  further  we  should  find  it  to  be 
the  case  with  all. 

Joseph  Cracklin.  So  are  some  things  we  have  a  per- 
fect right  to  do. 

Dr.  Dix.     What,  for  instance  ? 

Joseph  Cracklin.  Well,  building  a  house  and  cutting 
off  our  neighbor's  view. 

Dr.  Dix.  A  more  fitting  comparison  would  be,  build- 
ing a  stable  or  some  other  nuisance  next  his  house,  and 
thus  interfering  both  with  his  health  and  his  comfort, 

Suscin  Perkins.  Yes,  sir ;  and  the  law  often  recog- 
nizes that  as  wrong  and  forbids  it. 

Duct/  Snow.  Just  as  the  notice  is  posted  up,  ''  No 
Smoking." 

Dr.  Dix.  A  most  excellent  illustration.  Well,  give 
us  another  reason  why  the  tobacco  habit,  for  instance, 
is  immoral. 

Florence  Hill.     It  is  filthy  ;  and  cleanliness  is  a  duty. 

Dr.  Dix.     Good,     And  why  is  cleanliness  a  duty  ? 

Florence  Hill.  Because  it  is  necessary  not  only  to 
our  own  health  and  comfort,  but  also  to  that  of  oar 
neighbors. 


THE  CHAINS  OF  HABIT.  91 

Dr.  Dix.  Necessary  to  the  health  and  comfort  of 
both  mind  and  body.  It  is  a  duty,  like  all  other  duties, 
springing  from  a  principle  of  right.  We  should  be 
cleanly,  as  that  mirror  should  be  bright.  We  should  be 
cleanly,  healthy,  and  comfortable,  as  we  should  be  truth- 
ful, honorable,  and  unselfish.  Now,  let  us  have  another 
reason  why  the  habits  we  are  discussing  are  immoral. 

James  Murphy.  Because  other  peojile  may  follow 
our  example. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes ;  I  have  already  alluded  to  that  most 
unhappy  consequence  of  our  misdoing.  If  for  no  other 
reason,  when  that  danger  comes,  we  should  strike  for 
freedom. 

Frederick  Fox.  Suppose  the  injury  to  our  own  health 
were  the  only  objection  to  the  habit,  would  it  be  im- 
moral ?  Was  it  wrong,  for  instance,  for  Robinson  Cru- 
soe to  smoke  his  pipe  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  That  is  a  very  interesting  question.  When 
Robinson  Crusoe  had  no  neighbors  to  injure  or  annoy 
or  set  a  bad  example  to,  how  was  it  possible  for  him  to 
do  wrong  ? 

Archibald  Watson.  But  he  did  have  neighbors,  — 
his  cats,  goats,  and  dogs. 

Dr.  Dix  [smiling^.  None  of  them  would  be  likely  to 
follow  his  example,  in  smoking  at  least :  as  I  remarked 
some  time  ago,  most  animals  are  too  sensible  ;  it  is  only 
the  one  that  most  resembles  man  in  shape  that  ever 
imitates  him  in  this  folly.  But,  granting  that  Robin- 
son did  his  full  duty  to  his  dumb  companions,  w^hat 
other  duties  devolved  upon  him  ? 

Julia  Taijlor.  As  has  already  been  said,  it  was  his 
duty  to  be  cleanly. 

Dr.  Dix.     Yes.     Go  on. 

Helen  Sau-yer.  It  was  his  duty  to  be  as  cheerful  and 
contented  as  possible. 

Dr.  Dix.  But  why,  since  there  was  no  one  to  be 
affected  by  his  sullenness  or  discontent  ? 


92  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Helen  Sawyer.  There  was  himself  to  be  affected  by 
it. 

Z>r.  D'lx.  Had  n't  he  the  right  to  do  as  he  chose  with 
himself  ? 

Helen  Sawyer.  Ko,  Dr.  Dix ;  because  he  did  n't  cre- 
ate himself. 

Dr.  Dix.  Eight.  But  even  suppose,  if  such  a  thing 
is  conceivable,  that  he  did  create  himself;  would  he 
then  have  had  the  right  to  do  what  he  pleased  Avith  his 
own  handiwork  ? 

Helen  Sawyer.  I  think  not,  unless  he  pleased  to  do 
the  best ;  for  the  best  only  is  duty,  as  you  have  said  so 
many  times. 

Dr.  Dix.  I  am  glad  the  lesson  has  been  so  well 
learned.  His  best  was  to  cherish  mind  and  body  to  the 
very  utmost  of  his  ability,  to  be  grateful  for  the  bless- 
ings still  remaining  to  him,  which,  as  you  remember, 
he  so  dutifully  offset  against  his  privations,  striking 
the  balance  in  favor  of  his  blessings. 

Let  us  now  return  to  the  particular  subject  of  last 
Wednesday,  in  regard  to  which  I  have  somewhat  more 
to  say.  A  young  man  asked  me  how  it  is  that  men  can 
use  tobacco  as  they  do  Avithout  dying,  if  it  is  such  a 
deadly  poison.  He  told  me  of  his  grandfather,  who  has 
used  it  for  at  least  sixty  years,  and  who  yet  seems  to  be 
strong  and  healthy  in  spite  of  it. 

I  have  known  even  more  remarkable  cases  of  tena- 
cious vitality  than  that.  I  am  personally  acquainted 
with  a  man  who  carried  a  bullet  in  his  brain  for  several 
years  after  the  war,  and  for  much  of  that  time  seemed 
as  well  as  ever.  Does  this  prove  that  bullets  are  not 
deadly  ?  Habitual  arsenic-eaters  have  been  known  to 
survive  single  doses  which  would  kill  a  dozen  people 
with  systems  in  the  normal  condition.  Would  you 
argue,  therefore,  that  arsenic  is  not  a  deadly  poison  ? 
The  life  force  seems  well-nigh  inexhaustible  sometimes. 
If  it  were  not  so,  neither  human  nor  animal  races  could 


THE  CHAINS  OF  HABIT.  93 

survive  the  terrible  strains  they  are  all  subjected  to  at 
certain  times  in  their  life  history.  I  have  no  doubt 
whatever  that  in  the  case  of  the  young  man's  grand- 
father it  is  as  he  says,  and  that  he  is  as  strong  and 
well  as  he  seems.  Doubtless  nature  endowed  him  ori- 
ginally with  very  great  strength  of  constitution,  which 
has  probably  been  still  further  favored  by  an  invigorat- 
ing out-of-door  occupation ;  but  it  is  pretty  certain  that 
he  could  not  have  kept  up  the  habit  through  all  those 
years  as  our  young  cigarette  smokers  practice  it  to-day : 
he  would  doubtless  have  died  long  ago  of  "tobacco- 
heart."  We  must  not  lay  too  much  stress  on  the  fact 
that  there  are  people  who  arrive  at  old  age  in  spite  of 
this  and  other  destructive  habits.  No  one  knows  how 
much  better  and  happier  lives  they  might  have  lived, 
or  how  much  healthier  and  stronger  they  might  have 
been  to-day.  Especially  no  one  knows  how  many 
others  of  feebler  vitality  these  same  habits  have  laid  in 
untimely  graves. 

I  have  no  wish  to  exaggerate  the  evils  and  dangers  I 
am  urging  you  to  avoid.  Besides  the  moral  wrong  I 
should  commit  in  doing  so,  —  if  it  were  done  know- 
ingly,—  I  should  defeat  my  own  object.  Your  own 
observation  would  soon  reveal  the  exaggeration,  and 
lead  you,  perhaps,  even  farther  from  the  truth  in  the 
opposite  direction. 

Let  us  admit,  therefore,  that  multitudes  of  men  in- 
dulge in  the  use  of  tobacco  with  apparent  impunity; 
yet  reason  tells  us  that  the  impunity  is  only  apparent, 
that  the  penalty  is  exactly  in  proportion  to  the  degree 
in  which  nature  is  violated ;  and  the  solemn,  indispu- 
table fact  is,  that  countless  numbers  are  most  terribly 
injured  by  the  habit.  Like  all  other  life-sapping  prac- 
tices, it  is  especially  disastrous  to  the  young  and  unde- 
veloped. I  see  no  reason  to  doubt  the  highest  medical 
authorities,  who  declare  that  the  habit  of  cigarette 
smoking,  as  indulged  in  by  the  boys  and  young  men  of 


94  CHARACTEB  BUILDING. 

to-day,  is  capable,  in  a  few  generations,  of  making  the 
strongest  race  on  eartli  the  feeblest. 

There  is  no  exaggeration,  boys,  in  these  statements. 
Let  me  make  one  more  :  The  easiest  way  to  escape  this 
or  any  other  bad  habit  is,  never  to  form  it.  The  old 
smoker  is  bound  by  chains  and  fetters  of  steel :  he  can 
escape  only,  if  at  all,  by  a  long  and  painful  struggle. 
You  whose  fresh  young  lips  have  never  been  contami- 
nated never  need  make  a  struggle.  You  are  forever 
free,  if  you  choose,  without  an  uneasy  moment. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  I  never  supposed  that  it  was  really 
painful  to  leave  off  smoking. 

Dr.  Dix.  Painful !  Is  it  painful  to  feel  an  uncon- 
querable craving  for  something  that  is  easily  within 
your  reach,  and  yet  resolutely  let  it  alone  ?  to  feel  this 
craving  growing  stronger  and  stronger  the  longer  it  is 
ungratified,  for  days,  weeks  perhaps  ?  to  be  unable  by 
reason  of  the  torturing  hunger  to  remain  at  ease  in  any 
place  or  at  any  occupation  long  at  a  time  ?  No  one  can 
know  what  it  is  until  he  has  experienced  it.  It  is  the 
regular  and  natural  effect  of  stopping  the  habitual  use 
of  any  poisonous  stimulant.  Inveterate  users  of  alcohol, 
opium,  and  other  still  more  powerful  agents  which  I 
will  not  name,  often  become  raving  maniacs  when  de- 
prived of  what  has  been  their  chief  necessity.  The 
same  result  has  been  known  to  follow  the  sudden  de- 
privation of  tobacco. 

The  old  proverb,  "  An  ounce  of  prevention  is  worth  a 
pound  of  cure,"  applies  with  peculiar  force  to  the  for- 
mation of  this  and  all  other  bad  habits.  If  I  should 
say  what  I  have  been  saying  to  you  to  a  roomful  of  old 
smokers,  I  should  expect  that  my  words  would  accom- 
plish little  or  nothing.  The  probability  is  that  the 
majority  of  my  hearers  would  already  know  and  admit 
the  truth  of  all  I  have  said.  Yet,  like  the  young  doctor 
with  his  cigar  and  white  handkerchief,  they  would  go 
on  poisoning  themselves  with  calm  and  deliberate  un- 
concern. 


THE  CHAINS  OF  HABIT.  95 

But  witli  you  I  hope  and  expect  that  the  result  will 
be  different.  You  are  as  yet  unscathed,  —  most  of  you 
at  least,  I  hope  ;  you  have  scarcely  a  battle  to  wage.  If 
any  of  you,  with  full  realization  of  what  you  are  doing, 
deliberately  sell  yourselves  into  the  abject  slavery  which 
I  have  been  describing,  you  will  richly  deserve  all  you 
will  suffer.  If  I  had  realized  what  I  was  doing  when  I 
formed  the  habit,  I  firmly  believe  that  not  even  army 
life  would  have  betrayed  me  into  it. 

There  is  a  question  which  you  have  all  mentally 
asked  ;  only  your  politeness  and  respect  have  prevented 
your  asking  it  aloud  :  "  Dr.  Dix,  why  don't  you  leave 
off  your  cigar  now  ?  " 

WeU,  I  don't  say  that  I  shall  not.  I  have  tried  sev- 
eral times  and  failed.  That  is  a  humiliating  confession 
to  make,  is  it  not  ?  In  other  respects  I  believe  I  am 
not  wanting  in  resolution.  Heretofore,  however,  I  have 
not  been  conscious  that  my  bad  habit  has  injured  any 
one  but  myself.  That  is  wrong,  I  have  said  and  still 
say,  but  as  I  have  indulged  in  moderation  I  have  felt 
that  I  could  afford  the  tax  on  my  vitality.  Now,  how- 
ever, I  have  a  new  incentive  :  I  am  forced  to  choose 
between  setting  you  a  good  or  a  bad  example.  There 
can  be  no  possible  uncertainty  in  my  mind  as  to  which 
is  my  duty.  Nevertheless  I  shall  have  a  hard  struggle. 
May  that  struggle  of  mine  be  a  salutary  lesson  to  all  of 
you,  and  may  the  victory  which  I  hope  to  win  be  a  still 
more  precious  lesson,  teaching  you  never  to  despair, 
whatever  bad  habit  you  may  have  fallen  into,  when  you 
may  see  that  even  the  tobacco  habit  of  thirty  years' 
standing  may  be  broken. 


XIX. 
THE  ALCOHOL  HABIT. 

Dr.  Dix.  The  tobacco  habit,  which  we  have  been 
considering  at  some  length,  naturally  suggests  its  kin- 
dred vice,  the  alcohol  habit. 

You  are  all  familiar  enough  with  the  story  of  its 
ravages  :  how  it  changes  gardens  to  deserts,  homes  of 
thrift,  comfort,  and  happiness  to  abodes  of  wretche'dness 
and  want ;  how  it  tills  prisons,  hospitals,  and  alms- 
houses ;  how,  in  short,  it  ruins  body  and  soul  alike, 
transforming  a  man  to  a  fiend,  maniac,  or  imbecile,  and 
bringing  him  to  an  untimely  grave.  You  have  heard  all 
this  from  your  earliest  childhood ;  and  although  not 
every  man  who  takes  his  social  glass  pays  the  full 
penalty  of  his  daring,  you  know  well  that  there  are 
countless  multitudes  who  do  pay  the  penalty.  What 
are  the  temptations  that  lead  men  deliberately  into  a 
habit  whose  possible  results  are  so  universally  recog- 
nized ?  It  is  principally  of  these  that  I  wish  to  speak, 
for  it  is  only  with  these  that  any  of  you  can  be  per- 
sonally concerned  at  this  stage  of  your  lives. 

Tell  me,  boys,  what  are  some  of  the  inducements  that 
tempt  a  young  man  to  take  his  first  glass  ? 

Archibald  Watson.  His  companions  invite  him,  and 
he  is  ashamed  to  refuse. 

Dr.  Dix.  Ashamed  !  Of  what  ?  Of  refusing  what  he 
does  not  want,  and  what  they  know  he  does  not  want  ? 

Arc/iibald  Watson.  He  is  ashamed  to  have  them 
know  that  he  does  not  want  it,  —  to  have  them  think  he 
is  a  "  tenderfoot." 

Dr.  Dix.     That  means,  I  suppose,  one  who  is  not,  at 


THE  ALCOHOL  HABIT.  97 

least,  an  incipient  drunkard.     So  a  taste  for  whiskey  is 
a  tiling  to  be  i)roud  of,  is  it  ? 

Archibald  Watson.  It  is  not  a  thing  that  Jshoukl  be 
proud  of,  but  the  young  man  we  are  speaking  of  and 
his  comrades  might  be  proud  of  it. 

Dr.  D'lx.  I  did  not  suppose  you  were  speaking  for 
yourself.  I  presxime  gambling  is  a  thing  to  be  proud  of 
among  blacklegs,  and  thieving  among  pickpockets.  The 
way  to  escape  the  influence  of  such  public  sentiment  is 
obvious  and  easy. 

Archibald  Watson.     To  find  different  society  ? 
xDr.  Dix.     Even  so. 

Joseph  CracMui  \_with  an  air  of  resentment'\.  The 
young  man's  comrades  may  be  neither  blacklegs  nor 
pickpockets ;  they  may  be  only  a  party  of  gay  young 
fellows,  who  like  a  good  time. 

Dr.  Dix.  We  will  speak  of  that  ^'  good  time  "  pre- 
sently. They  may  be  honest  enough,  as  Cracklin  says, 
so  far  as  money  is  concerned,  but  what  are  they  doing 
to  the  young  man  ?  They  might  far  better  rob  him  of 
his  last  penny  and  leave  him  otherwise  unharmed. 

Joseph  Cracklin.  They  probably  don't  think  of  the 
harm  they  are  doing  to  him.  At  any  rate,  they  don't 
try  to  make  him  any  worse  off  than  they  are  themselves. 

Dr.  Dix.  No ;  they  probably  "  don't  think."  That 
has  been  their  trouble  from  the  first.  But  we  will  let 
them  go  their  way  and  turn  our  attention  to  him.  Sup- 
pose he  should  be  manly  and  sensible  enough  to  estimate 
things  at  their  true  value,  —  his  own  safety  of  body  and 
soul  and  right  for  its  own  sake  on  the  one  hand,  and 
their  passing  approval  on  the  other.     What  then  ? 

Joseph  CracM'm.  Why,  if  he  thought  there  was  any 
real  danger  of  his  becoming  a  drunkard  — 

Dr.  Dix.  If  he  thought !  Does  n't  he  know  there 
is  ?  What  right  has  he  to  believe  there  is  no  danger 
for  him  in  what  has  destroyed  so  many  millions,  none  of 
whom  were  any  more  anxious  to  be  destroyed  than  he  ? 


98  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Joseph  Cracklin.  If  he  tliouglit  enough  about  it,  of 
course  lie  would  refuse. 

Dr.  Dix.  Well,  it  is  a  matter  worth  thinking  about. 
What  would  be  the  worst  possible  consequence  of  his 
refusal ? 

Joseph  Cracldln.  They  would  set  him  down  as  a 
muif,  a  fellow  with  no  fun  in  him. 

Dr.  Dix.  And  perhaps  might  find  him  so  unconge- 
nial as  to  cut  his  acquaintance  ? 

Joseph  Cracklin.     Perhaps. 

Dr.  Dix.     A  terrible  fate,  indeed ! 

Joseph  Cracklin.  They  'd  treat  him  civilly,  of  course, 
whenever  they  met  him. 

Dr.  Dix.  But  would  n't  honor  him  with  invitations 
to  their  convivial  dinners  ? 

Joseph  Cracklin.  As  he  had  already  declined  that 
sort  of  thing,  they  would  probably  think  it  of  no  use. 

Dr.  Dix.  And  would  that  be  likely  to  make  him  in- 
consolable ? 

Josepjh  Cracklin.  A  fellow  does  n't  like  to  lose  his 
friends. 

Dr.  Dix.  Nor  would  he.  You  make  a  great  mistake, 
Cracklin.  They  would  do  a  great  deal  more  than  treat 
him  civilly.  There  is  not  one  of  those  gay  young  fel- 
lows, whose  friendship  is  worth  a  straw,  that  would  not 
secretly,  if  not  openly,  admire  the  courage  and  indepen- 
dence that  dared  to  say  No,  —  not  one  of  them  that 
would  not  in  his  heart  despise  the  imbecility,  folly,  and 
cowardice  that  would  accept  possible  ruin  for  fear  of 
ridicule  or  unpopularity.  Men  always  like  a  backbone 
better  than  a  string.  It  is  human  nature  to  despise 
those  over  whom  victory  is  easily  gained.  When  a  false 
friend  is  endeavoring  to  persuade  you  to  your  own  disad- 
vantage, yield,  and  you  win  only  his  contempt ;  firmly 
refuse,  and  he  at  once  acknowledges  you  as  his  superior. 
I  repeat,  not  one  of  those  gay  young  fellows  that  would 
not   in  his   heart   admire  the   exhibition  of   strength, 


THE  ALCOHOL  HABIT.  99 

courage,  and  independence,  and  most  heartily  wish  that 
he  possessed  the  same  noble  qualities. 

Joseph  CrarhUn.  But  they  would  n't  really  like  him, 
for  all  that,  because  they  could  n't  have  any  fun  with 
him. 

Dr.  Dlx.  Hold  ;  let  us  see  about  that.  Fun  is  the 
natural  exercise  of  wit  and  light-heartedness,  is  it  not  ? 

Joseph  Cracklin.     Yes,  Dr.  Dix. 

Dr.  Dlx.     And  wine  and  whiskey  make  men  witty  ? 

Joseph  Cracklin.     Sometimes,  not  always. 

Dr.  Dlx.  There  is  no  wit  or  humor  except  what  alco- 
hol makes  ? 

Joseph  Cracklin.     Oh,  I  did  n't  say  so. 

Dr.  Dlx.  Then  there  are  people  who  can  have  fun 
without  getting  drunk?  How  do  they  compare  with 
those  who  cannot  ? 

Joseph  Cracklin.  I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  light 
before.  I  don't  want  you  to  think  /  am  in  favor  of 
drinking. 

D7\  Dlx.  None  of  our  talk  is  supposed  to  be  per- 
sonal. Scholars,  don't  you  think  a  man  who  cannot  be 
funny  or  light-hearted  unless  he  is  drunk  has  rather  a 
poor  claim  to  either  wit  or  jovial  spirits  ? 

Choynis.     Yes,  sir. 

Dr.  Dlx.  And  what  is  a  company  of  young  men  who 
acknowledge  by  their  acts  that  they  cannot  enjoy  them- 
selves without  the  aid  of  alcohol  but  a  sorry,  stupid 
set,  after  all  ?  Compare  them  with  an  equal  number  of 
bright  young  fellows  whose  hearts  are  always  light  with 
health  and  a  clean  conscience,  whose  brains  are  unbe- 
fogged  and  unparalyzed  by  poison  of  any  kind.  The 
wit  of  these,  inspired  only  by  the  wine  of  native  genius 
and  good  spirits,  sparkles  like  the  pure  mountain  brook- 
let laughing  in  the  sunlight ;  the  wit  of  those,  fuming 
from  the  cellar,  is  like  the  blue  flame  whose  fitful  gleam 
only  shows  how  heart,  brain,  and  body  are  slowly  but 
surely  burning  to  ashes ! 


XX. 

BENEFICENT  LIONS  AND  TIGERS. 

Dr.  Dix.  Can  any  of  you  tell  me  how  it  is  that  alco- 
hol —  not  always,  indeed,  as  Cracklin  has  well  said,  but 
sometimes  —  makes  men  witty  and  light-hearted,  coura- 
geous, enthusiastic,  strong  for  a  sudden  effort  ? 

Jonathan  Tower.     It  stimulates  them. 

Dr.  Dix.  That  simply  repeats  the  proposition  with- 
out explaining  it. 

Isahelle  Anthony.  It  makes  the  blood  circulate  faster, 
and  it  is  the  blood  that  sustains  all  kinds  of  action  in 
our  bodies. 

Dr.  Dix.  So  healthy  exercise  in  the  fresh  air  quick- 
ens the  circulation. 

Isahelle  Anthony.  But  that  is  a  natural  stimulus, 
whereas  alcohol  is  not. 

Dr.  Dix.  True.  Xow  I  will  tell  you  how  alcohol 
stimulates  the  circulation  of  the  blood.  The  blood  cir- 
culates in  our  bodies  almost  exactly  as  the  water  cir- 
culates in  the  water-works  of  a  great  city.  Let  us  see 
with  what  minuteness  the  parallel  may  be  drawn. 
First,  there  is  the  great  engine  that  raises  the  water  in 
the  standpipe  or  reservoir,  and  thus  gives  it  ''head." 
What  is  that  in  the  body  ? 

Chorus.     The  heart. 

Dr.  Dix.  From  the  standpipe  or  reservoir  the  water 
is  forced  into  the  mains  branching  through  the  streets 
like  — 

Chorus.     The  arteries. 

Dr.  Dix.  From  the  mains  it  is  carried  by  service- 
pipes  into  houses,  manufactories,  and  workshops.  These 
service-pipes  correspond  to  — 


BENEFICENT  LIONS  AND  TIGERS.  101 

Chorus.     The  smaller  arteries. 

Dr.  Dix.  Observe  that  up  to  this  point  neither  water 
nor  blood  has  clone  any  work.  In  the  houses  and  manu- 
factories the  faucets  are  turned  as  the  water  is  needed. 
Then  and  there  it  does  its  work,  not  in  the  pipes,  but 
after  it  has  left  them.  What  are  the  faucets  which 
"  turn  on  "  the  blood,  and  where  in  the  body  does  it  do 
its  work  ? 

Frank  Williams  [Jiesitatlngli/~\.     The  veins  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  ISTo ;  the  blood  enters  the  veins  after  it  has 
done  its  work,  just  as  in  the  city  the  water,  having  done 
its  work,  enters  the  — 

Chorus.     Waste-pipes. 

Dr.  Dix.  In  the  body,  however,  the  blood  enters 
these  "waste-pipes"  only  to  be  purified  and  renewed. 
What  lie  between  the  arteries  and  the  veins  that  corre- 
spond to  the  kitchens,  bathrooms,  laundries,  and  work- 
shops of  the  city  ? 

Chorus.     The  capillaries. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes.  It  is  in  the  capillary  network  that 
the  blood  does  all  its  work,  and  thus  enables  our  bodies 
and  brains  to  act. 

Now,  in  the  manufactories,  kitchens,  workshops,  etc., 
of  the  city  the  water  is  turned  on  only  as  it  is  needed. 
Suppose,  however,  a  horde  of  reckless  vandals,  being 
admitted  to  the  city,  should  force  their  way  into  the 
various  apartments  where  work  is  harmoniously  in 
progress,  and  turn  on  the  water  in  full  stream  every- 
where at  once.  That  would  be  a  quickening  of  the  cir- 
culation indeed !  Suppose,  moreover,  that  the  mis- 
chievous strangers  should  stand  their  ground,  forcibly 
preventing  the  faucets  from  being  closed.  There  would 
be  plenty  of  action  for  a  while,  though  anything  but 
harmonious  action.  But  it  would  only  be  for  a  while : 
the  water,  that  at  first  quickened  and  strengthened  ac- 
tion, would  soon  clog  and  drown  it.  After  the  vandals 
had  been  finally  driven  out  and  the  faucets  had  been 


102  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

closed,  one  by  one,  and  after  the  surplus  water  had. 
slowly  drained  away,  things  would  gradually  return  to 
something  like  their  former  condition,  save  here  and 
there,  where  the  sudden  flood  had  wrought  irreparable 
damage. 

This,  I  am  assured,  is  a  perfect  illustration  of  the 
physiological  action  of  alcohol.  Nature  opens  the  little 
entrances  to  the  capillaries  only  wide  enough  to  admit 
the  blood  as  it  is  needed  for  the  normal  action  of  our 
various  organs  ;  but  when  the  vandal  King  Alcohol  is 
admitted,  he  goes  raging  through  the  body  and  brain, 
paralyzing  the  capillaries,  and  "  turning  on  "  the  blood 
in  rushing,  drowning,  maddening  torrents  that,  in  spite 
of  subsequent  slow  repairs,  leave  here  and  there  irre- 
parable injury. 

And  that  is  how  it  makes  a  man  sometimes  witty, 
light-hearted,  and  energetic,  but  oftener  silly  and  absurd. 
No  wonder  he  is  absurd  with  all  that  chaos  raging 
within.  Think  of  the  suddenly  flooded  kitchens  and 
workshops  of  his  poor  body  and  brain  ! 

But,  alas,  silliness  and  absurdity  are  not  the  only  or 
the  worst  effects  of  the  internal  deluge.  Too  often  it 
drowns  reason  and  conscience  together,  and  makes  the 
man  a  maniac,  a  suicide,  a  murderer. 

Joseph  CracMhi.  Alcohol  sometimes  does  good  in 
the  human  system,  does  n't  it  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  That  is  a  question  for  the  physicians  to 
answer.  If  my  doctor  should  prescribe  it,  I  suppose  I 
should  take  it.  If  I  felt  called  upon  to  reason  upon 
the  propriety  of  his  prescription,  I  should  assume  that 
Nature  did  not  open  my  capillaries  Avide  enough  to  meet 
a  sudden  emergency,  and  that  Alcohol  was  sent  to  help 
her,  not  as  a  vandal  horde,  but  as  a  quiet,  orderly  mes- 
senger. 

Frederick  Fox.  Should  you  never  feel  justified  in 
taking  it  except  upon  a  physician's  prescription  ? 

J}r.  Dix.     If  I  should  be  bitten  by  a  venomous  ser- 


BENEFICENT  LIONS  AND   TIGERS.  103 

pent  and  could  get  at  a  jug  of  whiskey,  I  should  drink 
all  I  could  i)0ssibly  swallow,  precisely  as,  if  the  whole 
city  were  on  hre,  the  obvious  remedy  would  be  to  fight 
conflagration  with  flood.  But  I  have  not  been  speak- 
ing of  the  use  of  alcohol  in  emergencies.  My  subject 
has  been,  not  alcohol,  but  the  alcohol  habit.  I  have 
shown  what  it  does  for  the  individual. 

Does  the  alcohol  habit  ever  do  any  good  ?  Political 
economists  and  biologists  speak  of  one  of  its  effects  on 
the  human  race,  which  we  must  acknowledge,  in  the 
long  run,  to  be  a  benefit.  I  will  illustrate  it  by  another 
comparison. 

What  is  known  as  the  survival  of  the  fittest  is  one  of 
the  two  great  principles  upon  which  depends  the  devel- 
opment of  the  races.  In  the  struggle  for  existence,  in 
both  the  animal  and  the  vegetable  kingdoms,  the  strong 
croAvd  out  or  prey  upon  the  weak  ;  those  best  adapted 
to  their  environments  survive ;  the  rest  perish.  Among 
the  carnivores,  for  instance,  the  strongest  and  the  most 
coiirageous  destroy  their  antagonists  and  are  left  to 
feed  upon  the  feebler  races.  Among  these  latter  the 
strongest  and  most  active  and  cunning  only  escape. 
Thus  only  the  most  highly  developed  of  all  races  are 
left  to  transmit  their  superiority  to  succeeding  genera- 
tions. 

Frederick  Fox.  Has  n't  sheer  good  luck  sometimes 
as  much  to  do  with  their  escaping  as  their  own  strength 
or  cunning  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  You  must  learn  to  generalize,  my  boy.  A 
few  exceptional  cases  do  not  invalidate  the  general  law. 

Among  civilized  men  there  are  so  few  that  perform 
the  function  which  beasts  of  prey  perform  among  the 
animal  races  that  the  economy  of  nature  demands  some 
other  agents  to  suppress  the  inferior  elements  of  soci- 
ety and  leave  the  earth  a  heritage  for  the  superior. 
The  crowding-out  process  operates  to  a  certain  extent, 
it  is  true  ;  but  that  alone  would  be  insufficient,  at  least 


104  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

until  the  world  becomes  vastly  more  densely  populated 
than  it  is  to-day. 

Jane  Simpson.  Would  it  be  sufhcient  in  such  a  city 
as  London  or  Paris  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  The  fearful  rate  of  mortality  among  the 
lowest  classes  in  such  centres  of  population  is  a  most 
striking  illustration  of  what  I  have  been  saying.  It  is 
not  due  to  the  crowdiug-out  process  alone,  however, 
even  there  :  the  other  agents  which  Nature  calls  to  her 
aid  in  securing  the  survival  of  the  fittest  among  men 
work  still  more  terrible  havoc  even  in  London  and 
Paris.  But  the  work  of  these  other  agents  is  not  con- 
fined to  densely  populated  centres,  which,  after  all,  in- 
clude but  a  comparatively  small  part  of  the  world's 
population.  They  operate  in  country  as  well  as  in 
town,  where  there  is  plenty  of  room  and  provision  for 
all  as  well  as  where  the  feeble  must  necessarily  go  un- 
der.    What  are  these  other  agents  ? 

Florence  Hill.  I  suppose  the  alcohol  habit  is  one  of 
them. 

Dr.  Dix.  And  all  other  self-destructive  habits.  It  is 
these  chiefly  which  do  for  the  human  race  what  beasts 
of  prey  do  for  the  brute  creation.  Does  it  not  really 
seem  as  if  it  were  the  deliberate  policy  of  conscious  Na- 
ture thus  to  implant  in  the  most  undesirable  elements 
of  the  human  race  the  means  of  their  own  extermina- 
tion ?  The  worst  criminals  are  the  shortest-lived  class 
on  earth,  slain  by  one  another's  murderous  hands  and 
by  the  laws  they  violate,  but  in  enormously  greater 
multitudes  by  their  own  base  appetites  and  passions. 
It  is  not  crime  alone  that  is  thus  held  in  check  and  pre- 
vented from  overrunning  the  fair  earth  ;  weakness  and 
inferiority  in  general  are,  as  a  rule,  accompanied  by 
that  moral  weakness,  that  lack  of  self-command,  which 
makes  them  an  easy  prey  to  the  cleansing  besom  of 
Nature. 

Thus,  for  the  good  of  mankind  at  large,  as  I  have 


BENEFICENT  LIONS  AND  TIGERS.  105 

shown,  tlie  wicked  and  the  weak  are  doomed  not  to  live 
out  half  their  days.  When,  therefore,  you  are  tempted 
to  fall  into  the  alcohol  or  any  other  self-destructive 
habit,  ask  yourself  what  there  is  in  you  or  about  you 
that  should  lead  Nature  to  wish  to  exterminate  you  and 
your  type  from  earth. 

t/idla  Tnjlor.  But  it  is  not  always  the  naturally  bad 
or  weak  that  form  these  self-destructive  habits.  Do  we 
not  often  see  and  hear  of  the  strongest,  the  most  gener- 
ous and  amiable,  the  most  brilliant,  falling  victims  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Once  more  I  say,  you  must  learn  to  gener- 
alize. When  a  multitude  of  ruttianly  rioters  are  raging 
through  the  streets,  the  artillery  mows  them  down  with- 
out regard  to  an  occasional  noble  exception  that  may  be 
among  them.  So  Nature's  laws  must  be  enforced.  But 
even  in  the  cases  you  refer  to  there  must  alwa3^s  be 
some  weakness  joined  with  the  strength,  the  amiability, 
and  brilliancy,  —  moral  weakness,  if  no  other,  —  the 
perpetuation  of  which  would  not  be  good  for  our  race. 
No  drunkard,  opium-eater,  or  any  other  species  of  self- 
indulgent  suicide  ever  died  whose  mental,  moral,  and 
physical  make-up,  as  a  whole,  it  would  be  for  the  advan- 
tage of  mankind  to  perpetuate;  So,  I  repeat,  if  you  are 
tempted  to  fall  into  any  of  these  bad  habits,  ask  your- 
self why  Nature  wants  to  get  rid  of  you. 


XXI. 
TRUTH  AND  TRUTHFULNESS. 

Dr.  Dix.  Kow  let  us  talk  of  some  of  the  habits  we 
wish  to  cultivate. 

In  estimating  the  values  of  things,  the  very  first 
question  we  ask  is,  Are  they  what  they  seem  ?  Is  the 
glittering  yellow  mineral  gold  or  only  iron  pyrites  ?  is 
the  brilliant  that  flashes  in  the  light  a  diamond  or  only 
paste  ?  is  the  smiling,  benevolent  face  that  appeals  to 
our  love  and  confidence  an  open  window  of  the  soiil  or 
only  a  mask?  in  short,  is  what  we  see  and  hear  the 
truth  or  a  lie  ?  This  is  to  us  the  first  and  most  impor- 
tant test  of  the  values  of  either  men  or  things  :  hence  I 
shall  place  at  the  head  of  the  list 

THE    HABIT    OF    TRUTHFULXESS, 

in  word,  act,  and  appearance. 

In  a  previous  Talk  I  remarked  that  things  always  do 
their  duty.  "With  some  rare  exceptions,  of  which  I  shall 
speak  in  due  time,  things  always  tell  the  truth.  Sup- 
pose it  were  not  so ;  suppose  we  lived  in  a  world  not 
only  of  artificial  but  of  natural  shams,  —  mountains, 
forests,  and  seas  not  really  mountains,  forests,  and  seas, 
but  only  seeming  so  ;  what  appeared,  for  instance,  a 
pleasant,  inviting  field  turning  out  a  frightful  precipice 
as  we  entered  it. 

Salli/  Jones.  That  would  be  like  some  fairy  tales  I 
have  read. 

Dr.  Dix.  And  did  you  ever  think  you  would  like  to 
live  in  the  fairyland  you  read  about  ? 


TRUTH  AND  TRUTHFULNESS.  107 

Sail)/  Jones.  I  have  often  thought  how  delightful  it 
would  be. 

Dr.  D'lx.  "\Miat,  never  know  at  what  moment  the 
pleasant  person  with  whom  you  were  talking  would 
turn  into  a  hideous  dragon,  or  your  magnificent  palace 
into  a  wretched  hovel  ?  always  expecting  to  be  caught 
up  into  the  air  or  sent  wandering  through  caverns  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea  ?  liable  at  any  instant  to  be  trans- 
formed into  a  mouse  or  an  elephant  at  the  pleasure  of 
the  wicked  magician  who  lived  next  door  ? 

Sally  Jones.  But  there  would  be  a  good  fairy  who 
■would  be  more  powerful  than  the  wicked  magician,  and 
she  would  turn  me  back  into  a  princess. 

Dr.  Dix.  And  the  poor  toad  that  had  befriended  you 
into  a  splendid  prince,  eh  ?  But  even  then  there  would 
always  be  other  wicked  magicians,  for  if  they  were  all 
dead  there  would  be  nothing  more  for  the  good  fairies 
to  do,  and  it  would  soon  cease  to  be  fairyland. 

I  sincerely  hope  the  time  will  never  come  when  fairy- 
land will  cease  to  exist  —  in  the  imagination.  The  de- 
struction of  Jack  the  Giant-Killer,  Santa  Claus,  Titania, 
Thor,  Juno,  and  Jupiter  would  be  an  irreparable  loss  to 
mankind.  It  would  be  to  the  world  of  thought  what 
the  destruction  of  the  blue  sky  (which  you  know  is  only 
a  beautiful  unreality)  would  be  to  the  world  of  sight. 
But  all  these  delightful  personages  and  their  delightful 
habitations  are  good  only  in  their  proper  sphere,  the 
imagination.  If  Miss  Jones  will  reflect  a  little,  I  think 
she  will  decide  that  the  real  world  is  better  to  live  in 
than  fairyland  would  be,  —  the  ground  she  walks  on 
real  solid  ground,  and  not  merely  a  thin  shell  covering 
vast  subterranean  caves,  into  which  the  next  step  may 
precipitate  her  ;  the  water  she  drinks  real  water,  and 
not  a  potent  charm  that  may  transform  her  into  a  mar- 
ble statue. 

Yes,  scholars,  most  happily  for  us,  things  tell  the 
truth,  —  they  are  what  they  seem. 


108  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Helen  Mar.     Longfellow  says  quite  the  opposite. 

Dr.  h'tx.  Ah !  in  that  line  Longfellow  refers  to  our 
misinterpretation  of  things.  It  is  only  of  the  dead  soul 
that  slumbers  that  he  is  speaking.  To  all  who  are  alive 
and  awake  life  is  not  an  empty  dream,  and  things  are 
what  they  seem,  earnest  realities. 

We  are  talking  just  now,  however,  of  things  in  a  more 
material  sense.  Our  earthly  habitation,  happily  for  us, 
is  not  a  fairyland  of  gorgeous  uncertainty,  but  a  well- 
ordered  reality,  to  which  our  senses  are  adapted  by  a 
corresponding  truthfulness.  I  remember  once  I  was 
standing  on  a  railway  while  a  train  of  cars  was  ap- 
proaching. As  the  huge,  thundering  mass  came  nearer 
I  stepped  off  the  track  upon  another,  and  while  I  stood 
there  gazing  a  thought  passed  through  my  mind  some- 
what like  this  :  My  eyes  tell  me  what  track  the  train  is 
on.  Suppose  my  eyes  should  deceive  me,  that  the  train 
should  be  really  on  the  other  track.  My  life  would  then 
be  only  for  a  few  seconds  longer.  But  I  felt  no  doubt. 
Although  the  engineer  spied  me  and  sounded  his  shrill 
whistle,  I  stood  my  ground  in  perfect  confidence  that 
my  eyes  were  telling  me  the  truth  ;  and  presently  both 
eyes  and  ears  told  me  that  the  train  had  passed  on,  leav- 
ing me  in  safety.  Xow,  the  sense  of  sight  is  only  one 
means  of  obtaining  information ;  the  speech  of  my  fel- 
low-men is  another.  Both  are  valuable  in  exact  pro- 
portion to  the  confidence  I  can  feel  in  their  truthfulness. 
But,  alas,  the  two  are  never  placed  on  the  same  footing. 
Every  one  says,  "  I  shall  believe  my  own  eyes  rather 
than  what  any  one  tells  me,"  thus  confessing  the  supe- 
riority of  nature  to  man. 

If  men  were  as  truthful  as  their  eyes  or  as  the  rest 
of  nature,  the  gift  of  speech  would  be  of  immeasurably 
greater  value  than  it  is.  So  great  is  its  depreciation, 
however,  that  it  has  given  rise  to  the  common  saying 
which  I  have  already  quoted  several  times,  "  Words  are 
cheap."     If  not  truthful,  they  are  far  worse  than  cheap, 


TRUTH  AND  TRUTHFULNESS.  109 

—  they  not  only  have  no  vahie,  but  they  are  a  positive 
curse,  like  the  counterfeits  that  vitiate  the  currency  of 
a  nation.  A  bank-note  has  no  value  save  as  it  repre- 
sents value  ;  and  its  representative  value  is  deteriorated 
in  exact  proportion  to  the  degree  of  uncertainty  in  re- 
gard to  its  redemption.  This  uncertainty  may  be  due 
to  either  or  both  of  two  causes  :  first,  the  untrustwor- 
thiness  of  the  government  or  corporation  which  issues 
the  note ;  and,  secondly,  the  degree  to  which  success- 
ful counterfeiting  may  be  carried.  The  government 
of  which  we  Americans  are  so  justly  proud  is  so  ab- 
solutely trustworthy,  and  there  is  so  little  successful 
counterfeiting,  that  its  notes  are  equivalent,  and  gen- 
erally preferred,  to  gold. 

Suppose  all  Americans  were  as  honorable  in  every 
respect  as  their  government  is  in  its  financial  dealings, 
what  a  nation  we  should  be  !  Think  of  receiving  the 
words  of  a  stranger  with  the  implicit  confidence  with 
which  we  receive  his  bank-notes  !  Ah,  then  words 
would  be  no  longer  cheap. 

Like  the  bank-note,  the  value  of  words  is  purely  re- 
presentative ;  but  unlike  the  bank-note  there  is  no  great 
centre  of  responsibility.  Each  individual  is  his  own 
bank,  and  his  notes  are  good  or  not  according  to  his  in- 
dividual reputation  for  honor  and  veracity.  Let  one  of 
his  notes  go  to  protest  and  there  is  an  immediate  depre- 
ciation of  all  the  rest.  Let  one  after  another  be  unre- 
deemed and  finally  they  are  all  waste  paper. 

As  the  thorough  business  man  has  an  almost  intuitive 
knowledge  of  the  true  value  of  the  commercial  paper 
which  passes  through  his  hands,  so  we  all  instinctively 
estimate  the  value  of  words  by  their  source.  "Who 
says  so  ?  "  we  ask.  "  If  it  is  A  it  must  be  true,  but  if 
it  is  B,  —  ah  !  that  is  a  very  different  matter." 

One  of  the  things  we  prize  most  in  life  is  our  power 
and  influence  over  our  fellow-men.  We  cannot  all  be 
great  leaders,  but  there  is  one  way  in  which  the  weakest 


110  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

of  us  may  be  strong  :  let  it  be  known  that  every  note 
we  issue  is  as  good  as  solid  gold,  that  every  statement 
we  make  is  the  exact  truth,  and  we  shall  exercise  a 
sway  in  comparison  with  which  the  power  of  the  most 
brilliant  liar  is  impotence.  Such  a  reputation  is  a 
priceless  treasure.  As  a  successful  old  merchant  re- 
marked to  me,  it  is  the  most  valuable  capital  with 
which  a  man  can  start  in  business.  Mark,  I  am  not 
speaking  now  of  the  real  character  which  alone  can 
secure  the  reputation,  —  that  is  altogether  above  price  ; 
I  am  speaking  only  of  the  reputation  itself.  All  men, 
whatever  their  own  reputation  for  truthfulness,  fully 
appreciate  its  importance  in  others.  With  one  accord 
they  will  prefer  him  whose  representations  need  no  dis- 
count, be  he  the  architect  who  is  to  build  their  houses 
or  the  boy  who  is  to  carry  their  messages. 

Jonathan  Toiver.  You  said,  "whatever  their  own 
reputation  for  truthfulness."  Why  should  not  men 
appreciate  its  importance  in  themselves  as  well  as  in 
others  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Because  they  do  not  always  recognize  the 
fact  which  I  have  stated,  that  the  real  character  alone 
can  secure  the  reputation,  —  the  lasting  reputation  I 
mean,  of  course.  Everybody  thinks  he  reads  others 
more  clearly  than  they  read  him.  This  is  easily  ac- 
counted for  when  we  consider  that  while  each  one 
knows  not  only  what  he  himself  says,  but  also  what  he 
thinks,  he  knows  only  what  others  say.  If  any  one  of 
you  has  been  in  the  habit  of  thinking  himself  the  one 
mortal  blessed  with  unerring  perception,  insight,  intu- 
ition into  the  character  of  others,  let  him  think  so  no 
longer :  let  him  remember  that  he  is  only  one  of  an  innu- 
merable species,  that  it  is  more  than  probable  that  there 
are  others  quite  as  sharp  as  he  is,  —  possibly  sharper. 

Mankind  seems  gullible  enough,  it  is  true  ;  but,  as  in 
almost  all  other  respects,  mankind  is  not  what  it  seems. 
It  is  only  things  that  are  as  they  seem.     Many  rascals 


TRUTH  AND  TRUTHFULNESS.  Ill 

beside  those  of  the  notorious  Tweed  ring  have  found 
this  out  too  hxte.  Too  late  it  has  dawned  upon  them 
that  the  final  crash  was  but  the  inevitable  result  of  the 
slow  undermining  of  the  confidence  of  their  fellow-men, 
who  for  years,  perhaps,  showed  no  outward  sign.  Too 
late  they  find  that  their  boasted  cunning  has  been  like 
that  of  the  ostrich  which,  thrusting  its  stupid  head 
into  the  bushes,  fancies  its  great,  awkward,  ugly  body 
unseen. 

Hele7i  Mar.  It  seems  to  me.  Dr.  Dix,  that  there 
must  be  exceptions.  Is  not  the  community  often  star- 
tled by  the  sudden  revelation  of  wickedness  altogether 
unsuspected  before  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Altogether  unsuspected  by  the  community, 
perhaps,  because  the  community  may  not  have  been  in 
close  enough  relations  with  the  perpetrators  to  be  in 
any  sense  acquainted  with  them.  The  great  majority 
of  people  whom  we  call  our  acquaintances  have  only  a 
bowing  acquaintance  with  us.  I  do  not  claim  that  such 
comparative  strangers  always  or  often  read  us  aright. 
This  may  form  the  subject  of  another  Talk.  But  I  do 
not  believe  there  was  ever  a  thorough-going  rascal  whose 
true  character  was  not  divined  by  some  of  those  whom 
he  least  feared.  In  many  of  the  cases  to  which  refer- 
ence has  been  made,  the  "  startling  wickedness  "  has 
been  the  result  of  undermined  moral  strength  less  sus- 
pected by  the  criminal  himself  than  by  those  around 
him.  It  has  been  like  the  sudden  giving  way  of  the 
Johnstown  dam,  slowly  but  surely  eaten  away  in  its 
foundations,  which  had  seemed  firmer  and  safer  to  the 
proprietors  than  to  the  keener  eyes  of  less  interested  — 
or,  as  it  proved,  far  more  interested  —  observers. 

It  is  good  for  us  all  to  know  that,  if  we  are  not  al- 
ways justly  estimated  by  others,  we  are  generally  better 
known  by  them  than.we  are  by  ourselves.  It  is  useless 
for  a  confirmed  liar  to  try  to  deceive  his  intimates  ;  and' 
if  he  could  know  how  clearly  his  false  heart  is  seen 


\ 


112  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

even  by  comparative  strangers,  he  would  be  appalled. 
With  all  our  mistaken  reading  of  one  another,  we  err 
least,  I  think,  in  our  estimate  of  one  another's  truth- 
fulness. And  with  what  minuteness  we  form  that  es- 
timate, all  unconsciously  too  !  How  easily  we  could 
arrange  a  table  of  percentages  attached  to  the  names  of 
all  our  acquaintances  in  definite  order,  from  the  one 
hundred  per  cent  of  our  hero  and  our  heroine  down  to 
the  zero  of  the  ppor  wretch  who  will  lie  even  when  the 
truth  would  serve  him  better. 

From  policy,  the  lowest  of  all  motives  to  do  right,  if 
from  no  other,  never  deceive.  There  is  no  surer  way  of 
disarming  yourselves. 


XXII. 
TRUTH  AND  TRUTHFULNESS,  CONTINUED. 

All  that  has  been  said  of  the  "well-iiigh  irresistible 
power  of  habit  might  be  repeated  with  especial  empha- 
sis in  dealing  with  our  present  subject.  The  Castle  of 
Truth  cannot  be  erected  in  the  soul  without  long  and 
patient  effort.  Its  foundations  must  be  strong  and 
deep-laid ;  its  walls  and  columns  must  be  solid  to  the 
centre  of  each  massive  block.  Then  only  will  it  stand 
firm  and  unshaken  amid  the  storms  of  temptation. 

Julia  Taylor.  Why,  then,  are  little  children  so  often 
made  a  proverb  of  truthfulness  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  In  little  children  the  virtues  are  chiefly 
those  of  negative  innocence.  They  are  like  tender 
flowers  blooming  in  the  virgin  soil  where  a  future  city 
is  to  be  built.  They  are  fragrant  and  beautiful,  indeed : 
but  life  is  more  than  a  garden  ;  its  sweetest  flowers 
must  erelong  give  place  to  castles  or  hovels,  temples  or 
dungeons. 

Habit,  hahif,  habit.  There  can  scarcely  be  too  much 
iteration  of  the  word.  Habit  determines  almost  infalli- 
bly what  a  man  shall  do  in  any  given  situation ;  it  deter- 
mines with  positive  certainty  what  his  first  unthinking 
impulse  shall  be. 

"  I  spoke  without  thinking,"  says  a  boy  detected  in 
a  falsehood.  "  If  I  had  stopped  to  think  a  moment  I 
should  have  told  the  truth."  Does  he  know  that  he  has 
confessed  not  one  but  a  thousand  falsehoods  ?  If  he 
had  declared  that  he  had  resisted  his  first  good  impulse 
and  had  sinned  deliberately,  it  would  have  been  bad 
enough,  indeed,  but  better,  immeasurably  better  than 


114  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

it  was.  My  hero  would  have  done  neither  the  one  thing 
nor  the  other.  From  his  brave,  clear  eyes  and  his  ready 
tongue  the  truth  would  have  leaped  forth  instantly,  pure, 
whole,  unsullied. 

There  are  certain  vices  that  men  are  more  or  less 
proud  of.  No  one  is  proud  of  falsehood.  The  lowest 
vagrant  will  scowl  and  show  fight  at  being  called  a  liar, 
though  he  may  rarely  open  his  mouth  but  to  lie ;  for  of 
all  the  virtues  of  good  men  there  is  none  he  admires 
more  than  their  truthfulness  ;  there  is  none  that  in  his 
estimation  more  distinctly  marks  the  difference  between 
them  and  himself. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  advantage  which  a  reputation 
for  truthfulness  gives  a  man  among  his  fellows.  Of 
infinitely  greater  value  than  the  mere  reputation  is  the 
reality.  ^The  instant  one  begins  to  deviate,  though  never 
so  slightly,  from  the  truth,  he  has  given  his  moral  struc- 
ture a  wrench  that  has  loosened  its  very  foundation 
stones.  Whatever  others  may  think  of  him,  he  knows 
that  he  is,  in  some  degree  at  least,  a  sham ;  that  there  is 
a  hollow  place  in  what  may  still  seem  on  the  outside 
solid  and  whole  to  the  centre.  Every  succeeding  lie, 
whether  discovered  or  not,  gives  another  wrench  and 
takes  away  another  stone,  until  at  last  there  is  nothing 
left  but  a  shell.  There  are  sins  that  men  may  commit 
and  still  retain  some  measure  of  self-respect,  but  what 
must  the  habitual  liar  think  of  himself  ?  He  at  least, 
if  no  one  else,  can  look  within  and  behold  the  moral 
void. 

Archibald  Wntson.  How,  then,  can  any  man  retain 
his  self-respect  ?     Are  not  all  men  liars  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Compared  with  Absolute  Truth  all  men  are 
liars.  So,  seen  against  the  face  of  the  sun,  a  candle 
flame  is  a  black  cone.  But  all  men  are  not  habitual  nor 
intentional  liars.  As  a  race,  they  are  earnest  lovers  of 
and  seekers  for  the  truth.  They  long  to  discover  it, 
reveal  it  to  their  fellows,  and  hand  it  down  to  their 


TRUTH  AND  TRUTHFULNESS.  115 

descendants.  What  long  ages  of  patient  toil  they  have 
given  to  this  single  pursuit !  \Vhat  expense  or  pains 
too  great  to  purge  from  human  knowledge  its  alloy  of 
error  ?  It  was  easy  to  trace  upon  the  map  the  sup- 
posed sources  of  the  Nile,  but  who  was  satisfied  with 
the  supposed  sources  ?  It  is  a  pleasing  thought  that 
beyond  the  icebergs  and  ice  fields  there  may  be  a  calm, 
clear  sea,  in  which  ships  may  ride  as  safely  as  in  their 
own  harbors.  But  of  what  value  is  the  mere  thought  ? 
It  is  the  truth  men  yearn  for,  and  it  is  this  yearning  that 
has  sent  so  many  to  the  death-cliill  of  the  frozen  Xorth. 
And  they  want  the  exact  truth,  not  a  mere  approach  to 
it.  Men  have  for  instance,  known,  for  a  long  time  very 
nearly  the  distance  of  our  earth  from  the  sun,  so  nearly 
that  the  addition  or  subtraction  of  a  small  fraction  of 
a  hair's  breadth  in  instrumental  measurements  would 
probably  give  its  exact  distance.  Every  few  years  an 
opportunity  comes  to  lessen  still  further  this  fraction 
of  error,  when  the  leading  governments  fit  out  expedi- 
tions at  great  expense,  and  scientific  m'en  leave  their 
homes  and  sail  to  the  antipodes,  if  need  be,  to  take 
full  advantage  of  these  opportunities. 

One  of  our  future  Talks  will  be  on  the  moral*  effect  of 
purely  secular  study.  AVhat  possible  relation,  for  in- 
stance, can  there  be  between  mathematics  and  virtue  ? 
I  will  anticipate  that  Talk  to  say  that,  whatever  its 
other  effects  may  be,  there  can  be  no  question  that 
secular  study  tends  very  powerfully  to  develop  a  love 
for  the  truth,  the  exact  truth,  and  a  contempt  for  error. 
It  is  tlie  untrained  and  untaught  mind  that  is  satisfied 
with  half-truth  and  lialf-falsehood.  The  weakness  and 
indolence  of  ignorance  are  responsible  for  more  lies  and 
half-lies  than  all  other  causes  combined.  One  of  the 
richest  fruits  of  intellectual  training  is  accuracy. 

George  Williams.  I  have  sometimes  felt  an  uncom- 
fortable doubt  as  to  whether  accuracy  may  not  be  gained 
at  the  expense  of  breadth  and  vigor. 


116  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Dr.  Dix.  Such  a  result  is  by  no  means  impossible ; 
but  a  sensible  man  is  not  likely  to  make  so  foolish  and 
unnecessary  a  blunder.  Wholesome,  properly  conducted 
intellectual  training  not  only  quickens  the  perceptions, 
but  enlarges'  their  range.  A  child's  or  a  savage's  pic- 
ture of  a  horse  satisfies  his  own  eye  both  in  detail  and 
in  general  outline :  training  would  reveal  to  him  the 
slovenliness  of  the  one  no  sooner  than  the  gross  dispro- 
portion of  the  other.  The  untrained  taste  and  intellect 
are  satisfied  with  disproportion  in  outline  and  slovenli- 
ness in  detail  in  everything,  —  pictures,  architecture, 
dress,  stories,  histories,  arguments  ;  that  is  to  say,  they 
are  as  likely  to  be  lacking  in  breadth  and  vigor  as  in 
accuracy.  And  when  to  untrained  taste  and  intellect  is 
added  an  untrained  moral  sense,  which  is  satisfied  with 
what  I  may  call  slovenly  truthfulness,  what  chance  re- 
mains for  either  art  or  truth  ? 

Julia  Taylor.  Dr.  Dix,  I  appreciate  all  that  has  been 
said  of  the  importance  of  truth  and  truthfulness ;  but 
language  has  other  uses  besides  to  impart  knowledge : 
to  amuse,  for  instance ;  to  make  us  laugh ;  to  please 
the  taste  and  fancy,  as  in  the  cases  of  fairy  tales  and 
mythology,  of  which  you  have  approved.  Has  not  fic- 
tion an  important  office  to  perform  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Most  certainly.  I  have  compared  the  use 
of  language  to  communicate  knowledge  to  the  use  of 
the  art  of  engraving  to  produce  bank-notes,  the  repre- 
sentatives of  value ;  but  the  art  of  engraving  has  uses 
besides  that  of  producing  bank-notes.  A  beautiful  pic- 
ture has  an  intrinsic  value  consisting  in  its  beauty ;  but 
an  ugly  scrawl  upon  a  soiled  scrap  of  paper  may  have  a 
representative  value  that  will  purchase  a  thousand  pic- 
tures. So  the  eloquence  of  an  actor  on  the  stage  may 
have  an  intrinsic  value,  consisting  in  its  beauty,  force, 
skilfully  simulated  passion ;  but  an  awkwardly  expressed 
statement  of  fact  from  an  authority  may  have  a  repre- 
sentative value  outweighing  it  a  thousand  times. 


TRUTH  AND  TRUTHFULNESS.  117 

A  great  audience  sat  listening  breathlessly  to  the  out- 
pouring of  Othello's  grief  and  remorse  by  the  bedside 
of  his  murdered  wife.  At  the  very  climax  of  the  thrill- 
ing scene,  when  he  was  about  to  plunge  the  dagger  into 
his  own  breast,  a  plain  man,  in  every -day  dress,  stepped 
upon  the  stage  with  a  paper  in  his  hand.  It  was  the 
mayor.  "  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  have 
come  to  tell  you  that  Lee  has  surrendered  !  "  What 
then  was  Othello  ?  what  was  Desdemona  ?  Only  two 
of  a  great  multitude  shouting  in  frantic  joy. 

But  even  the  intrinsic  values  of  which  I  have  spoken 
—  that  of  the  engraving  and  that  of  the  acting  —  are, 
after  all,  dependent  upon  their  truthfulness,  their  fidel- 
ity to  nature  and  reality.  Real  art  is  but  the  embodi- 
ment of  truth.  The  best  fiction  is  truer  than  much  of 
what  professes  to  be  history.  There  is  more  truth  in 
Michael  Angelo's  angels  than  in  most  portraits. 

Louisa  Thompson.     Including  their  wings  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes,  including  their  wings ;  for  their  wings 
represent  nothing  but  what  may  be  true  of  the  soul, 
even  in  this  life. 

Jonathan  Tower.  And  what  of  the  fairy  tales  and 
mythology  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  They  deceive  no  one,  and  if  written  and 
read  aright  even  they  may  teach  lessons  of  truth  that 
inartistic  stories  of  real  life  utterly  fail  to  teach.  Com- 
pare "  Eip  Van  Winkle  "  with  an  ordinary  newspaper 
account  of  what  "  actually  happened  "  ! 


XXIII. 
EXTRAVAGANCE  IN  LANGUAGE. 

Archibald  Watson.  Dr.  Dix,  notwithstanding  the 
strong  detestation  which  you  have  expressed  for  all  de- 
partures from  the  truth,  I  want  to  ask  if  there  is  not  a 
certain  kind  which  may  be  innocent.  There  is  an  old 
sailor  in  our  neighborhood  whom  everybody  looks  upon 
as  an  amiable  and  perfectly  harmless  fellow,  who  never- 
theless is  acknowledged  to  be  the  greatest  liar  in  town. 

Dr.  Dix.     Does  he  acknowledge  it  himself  ? 

Archibald  Watson.  Xo,  indeed,  not  he  !  He  claims 
to  be  veracity  personified.  But  we  have  reckoned  up 
the  shortest  possible  time  in  which  the  personal  adven- 
tures which  he  relates  could  have  taken  place,  and  it 
makes  him  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  old. 
\_Laughter.^ 

Dr.  Dix.  His  assumption  of  veracity  is  probably 
only  intended  to  add  to  the  humor  of  his  "  yarns."  He 
surely  does  not  expect  you  to  believe  them  ? 

Archibald  Watson.  I  only  know  that  he  gets  furious 
if  any  one  hints  a  suspicion  of  his  veracity.  He  always 
gives  the  exact  time  and  place  when  and  where  every- 
thing happened. 

Dr.  Dix.  But  what  does  he  say  to  your  computed  ag- 
gregate of  tAvo  and  a  half  centuries  ?  Even  Coleridge's 
Ancient  Mariner  did  not  claim  to  be  as  ancient  as  that. 

Archibald  Watson.  He  says  he  does  n't  care  about 
our  "  figgerin'."  He  "  reckons  "  he  knows  what  he  saw 
with  his  own  ejes  and  heard  with  his  own  ears.  Now, 
I  want  to  ask  what  possible  harm  his  lies  can  do,  since 
the  youngest  child  knows  better  than  to  believe  them. 


EXTRAVAGANCE  IN  LANGUAGE.  119 

Z)?*.  Dix.  He  liarms  himself,  if  no  one  else,  in  more 
ways  than  one.  He  probably  has  destroyed,  as  far  as 
possible,  his  own  sense  of  the  difference  between  truth 
and  falsehood.  To  him  Truth  is  as  if  she  were  not. 
He  has  destroyed  the  value  of  his  power  of  speech  ex- 
cept as  a  means  of  idle  amusement.  What  would  his 
testimony  be  worth  in  a  court  of  justice  ?  You  may 
laugh  at  him  and  even  like  him  in  a  way  ;  but  not  even 
the  youngest  child,  who,  you  say,  knows  better  than  to 
believe  him,  can  feel  for  him  any  real  respect.  In 
short,  he  has  destroyed  the  influence  which  he  might 
have  exerted  as  a  man  and  reduced  himself  to  a  mean- 
ingless chatterer. 

No  untrvith  told  with  intent  to  deceive  —  which  is 
what  constitutes  a  lie  —  can  be  harmless.  The  destruc- 
tion of  the  castle  of  truth  in  the  soul  is  one  of  the 
direst  calamities  which  can  befall  her.  Do  not,  I  be- 
seech you,  belittle  that  calamity.  Remember  always 
that  it  is  no  less  than  the  transformation  of  solidity  to 
hoUowness,  of  reality  to  sham. 

Archibald  Watson.  At  least  you  will  admit  that  some 
lies  are  infinitely  worse  than  others  ? 

Dr.  Dix.     "  Infinitely  "  is  a  strong  word. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.     Infinitely  strong. 

Archibald  Watson.  Well,  that's  just  the  Avord  I  want 
to  describe  some  of  the  lies  that  are  told. 

Dr.  Dix.  I  am  almost  inclined  to  agree  with  you, 
my  boy.  The  word  has  been  so  badly  abused,  however, 
that  it  is  no  longer  "  infinitely  "  strong.  You  spoke  a 
little  while  ago  of  one  kind  of  departure  from  the  truth 
which  you  thought  might  be  innocent.  There  is  another 
kind  which  you  and  many  others  may  regard  as  inno- 
cent. I  refer  to  the  indiscriminate  use  of  such  words 
as  the  one  in  question.  Is  it  innocent  ?  Let  us  see. 
"  Infinitely  "  meant  originally  absolutely  without  limit. 
When  used  by  those  whose  "  bank-notes  pass  for  their 
full  face  value,"  it  still  means  the  same.     Space  extends 


120  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

infinitely  in  all  ■  directions,  but  one  young  lady's  hair  is 
not  infinitely  longer  than  another's,  as  I  overheard  a 
third  young  lady  declare  the  other  morning.  [^Lauf/hter.'] 
Time  past  and  future  is  infinite  in  duration,  but  Dr. 
Long's  sermons  are  not,  although  I  have  heard  them 
called  so.  Now,  I  do  not  charge  those  who  habitually 
use  extravagant  language  with  any  great  amount  of 
moral  turpitude.  They  probably  mean  no  harm ;  they 
do  not  usually  intend  even  what  some  might  regard  as 
innocent  deception.  When  your  landlady  told  you  this 
morning  that  she  had  just  bought  some  "perfectly 
splendid  butter,"  she  probably  did  not  intend  you  to 
understand  that  it  emitted  a  dazzling  radiance  from  its 
golden  surface ;  she  simply  meant  that  it  was  fresh  and 
sweet,  and  that  was  all  the  meaning  her  words  con- 
veyed to  your  mind.  ^ATien  a  young  lady  informs  her 
confidential  friend  that  the  new  French  teacher  is  "  ut- 
terly horrible,"  she  does  not  mean  that  he  wears  horns 
and  is  covered  with  scales,  like  a  dragon  ;  it  is  only  her 
animated  way  of  saying  that  he  is  not  altogether  "agree- 
able to  her.  Well,  since  that  is  all  she  means  and  since 
that  is  all  she  is  understood  to  mean,  where  's  the  harm  ? 
The  harm  is  exactly  that  that  is  all  she  is  understood 
to  mean. 

Helen  Smvyer.  I  think  there  would  be  a  great  deal 
more  harm  if  she  were  understood  to  mean  exactly 
what  she  says. 

Dr.  Dix.  If  she  were  so  understood  she  would  proba- 
bly not  make  use  of  such  language.  She  and  others  like 
her  have  so  corrupted  the  "  coin  of  the  realm  "  that  it 
has  lost,  when  "  uttered  "  by  them  at  least,  the  greater 
part  of  its  value.  They  have  done  what  they  could  to 
destroy  the  power  of  language.  You  often  hear  the  ex- 
pression, "  Words  are  inadequate  to  describe,"  etc.  But 
why  are  they  inadequate  ?  If  their  original  power  had 
been  preserved  intact,  there  is  nothing  in  nature  or  art, 
in  action  or  feeling   that  they  would   not   adequately 


EXTRAVAGANCE  IN  LANGUAGE.  121 

represent.  The  most  splendid  sunset  that  eyes  ever 
beheld  was  no  more  than  splendid,  but  since  butter  has 
set  up  an  equal  claim  to  the  epithet  what  remains  to 
describe  the  sunset  ?  The  most  horrible  monsters  that 
ever  existed  in  fact  or  in  fancy  were  no  more  than  hor- 
rible, but  since  unpopular,  but  perhaps  well-meaning  and 
even  respectable-appearing,  instructors  in  French  have 
been  unfortunate  enough  to  fall  into  the  same  category, 
how  can  we  convey  any  adequate  idea  of  those  mon- 
sters ? 

Suppose  one  of  these  luxuriant  speakers  should  at- 
tempt to  describe  some  experience  of  which  his  hearers 
actually  knew  nothing  save  from  his  description ;  sup- 
pose he  had  seen  what  was  in  actual  fact  beautiful  or 
magnificent  or  lovely,  or  frightful  or  horrible  or  utterly 
revolting.  What  could  he  say  ?  The  utmost  resources 
of  his  vocabulary  suffice  to  express  only  the  rather  fine, 
the  passably  attractive,  the  somewhat  disagreeable.  Im- 
agine the  struggles  he  would  make  for  expression,  and 
the  final  desperation  with  which  he  would  say,  "  But 
words  are  utterly  inadequate  to  give  you  the  faintest 
idea  of  it ! " 

Jtilia  Taylor.  You  said  that  these  poor  abused  words 
formerly  meant  more  than  they  do  now.  Has  n't  human 
nature  always  been  the  same  ?  Don't  you  suppose  peo- 
ple have  always  been  as  prone  to  extravagant  language 
as  they  are  to-day  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  No,  jNIiss  Taylor.  I  believe  that  the  ever- 
increasing  stream  of  modern  trashy  fiction  that  is  pour- 
ing from  the  press  has  done  more  and  is  doing  more  to 
devitalize  our  language  than  all  other  causes  combined. 
Its  choicest  words,  that  should  be  kept  sacredly  for  the 
rare  occasions  when  they  are  really  appropriate,  are 
spread  thickly  over  every  page.  The  constant  struggle 
of  vulgar  minds  to  elevate  themselves  to  the  ranks  of 
genius  tends  only  to  drag  the  language  of  genius  down 
tb  their  own  level.     In   doing  the  ■work  of  peasants 


122  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

among  peasants  the  kings  and  queens  among  words 
have  lost  their  crowns  and  their  royal  robes,  and  now 
wear  only  fustian.  Hence  the  habitual  reader  of  cheap 
romance  finds  the  works  of  real  genius,  past  or  present, 
tame  and  impotent. 

Isabelle  Anthony.  What  you  have  just  said  solves 
what  has  been  a  mystery  to  me.  I  have  always  won- 
dered in  what  the  superiority  of  the  classics  consists. 
There  is  so  much  written  to-day  that  seems  to  me  more 
brilliant,  vigorous,  and  vivid  than  anything  of  Virgil's, 
or  Pope's,  or  Dryden's,  that  I  have  really  distrusted  the 
critics,  and  have  suspected  that  the  boasted  superiority 
of  the  classics  is  only  a  tradition. 

Dr.  Dix.  When  next  you  read  Virgil,  Pope,  Dryden, 
Spenser,  Ben  Jonson,  or  Wordsworth,  try  to  forget  the 
decrepitude  into  which  the  words  they  used  are  rapidly 
falling,  and  give  to  them  the  power  they  possessed  when 
they  were  written. 

•  Florence  Hill.  But  I  suppose  to-day  has  its  geniuses 
as  well  as  the  past.  It  is  not  their  fault  that  language 
has  lost  so  much  of  its  vigor.     What  are  they  to  do  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Your  question  brings  us  back  to  the  author- 
ity of  the  speaker  or  writer.  Do  not  forget  that  as  a 
bank-note  owes  its  value  to  the  bank  that  issues  it,  so 
a  word  owes  its  force  to  the  person  who  vatters  it.  A 
speaker  or  a  Avriter  who  is  observed  to  confine  his  use  of 
words  scrupulously  to  their  true  meaning  will  restore 
to  them,  in  his  own  i\tterances  at  least,  much  of  their 
original  force :  all  of  which  is  only  another  way  of 
saying  that  the  man  who  always  tells  the  truth  —  as 
the  real  genius  does,  for  genius  is,  after  all,  only  a 
quicker  insight  into  the  tri;e  —  will  always  be  believed. 

Julia  Taylor.  That  will  do  very  well  for  geniuses, 
but  common,  every-day  people  cannot  hope  to  do  much 
towards  restoring  to  words  their  original  force.  If  they 
should  try  to  do  so,  I  am  afraid  they  would  only  succeed 
in  making  themselves    seem  more  stupid,  or  perhaps 


EXTRAVAGANCE  IN  LANGUAGE.  123 

rude,  than  ever.  Suppose,  for  instance,  I  should  tell  my 
friend  whom  I  had  been  visiting  that  I  had  enjoyed  a 
considerable  amount  of  pleasure,  and  that  I  hoped  she 
would  return  my  visit  when  it  should  be  mutually  con- 
venient, instead  of  fervently  assuring  her  that  I  had  had 
"  a  most  lovely  time,"  and  that  I  should  be  "  perfectly 
delighted  "  to  have  her  return  my  visit  as  soon  as  she 
possibly  could  :  I  am  afraid  that,  instead  of  giving  me 
credit  for  truthfulness  and  for  a  desire  to  reform  the 
language,  she  would  simply  wonder  what  had  happened 
to  olfend  me  so  grievously. 

iJr.  Dix.  If  you  had  been  in  the  habit  of  gushing,  she 
would  probably  wonder  what  had  so  suddenly  cheeked 
the  stream.  But  suppose,  during  your  visit,  a  part  of 
your  conversation  had  been  on  the  very  subject  we  are 
now  discussing,  and  you  had  mutually  agreed  to  take 
each  other's  words  at  their  real  value  ;  then  suppose  she 
should  reply  to  you  in  the  reformed  style  which  you 
have  illustrated  (which,  by  the  way,  would  probably 
understate  the  real  feelings  of  you  both),  don't  you 
think  you  would,  already  assured  of  each  other's  true 
friendship,  be  fvilly  satisfied  with  its  expression  ? 

Julia  Taylor.  I  am  afraid  not.  I  think  we  should 
both  feel  decidedly  chilled. 

Dr.  Dix.  Another  illustration  of  the  force  of  habit. 
No  doubt  it  would  be  as  you  say.  It  would  take  you 
a  long  time  to  become  reconciled  to  the  strange  vocabu- 
lary. And  if  society  in  general  is  ever  to  make  this 
much-needed  reform  and  restore  to  words  their  birth- 
right of  power,  it  must  be  a  long,  slow  process.  But 
what  a  grand  triumph  it  would  be  for  tmth ! 

There  are  some  honest  souls,  however,  that  would  not 
need  to  change.  My  own  revered  father  is  one  of  these. 
When  he  said,  "  That  was  not  right,  my  son,"  it  was 
more  to  me  than  the  severest  denunciation  from  others 
would  have  been,  and  his  "  Well  done  "  was  a  eulogy 
indeed ! 


XXIV. 
SNAKES  IN  THE  GRASS. 

Dr.  Dix.     Last  Wednesday  morning  Watson  asked 

■whether  some  lies  are  not  "  infinitely  "  worse  than  oth- 
ers. His  extravagant  adverb  supplied  in  itself  a  sub- 
ject for  the  greater  part  of  our  Talk  for  that  occasion. 
Now  let  us  try  to  answer  the  question  he  intended  to 
ask.  What  is  one  of  the  worst  kinds  of  lies  than  can  be 
told? 

Chorus.     Slander. 

I)r.  Dix.  Unquestionably.  It  is  fittingly  typified  by 
a  serpent  hiding  in  the  grass.  We  have  been  speaking 
of  liars  who  are  hollow  within,  though  they  may  appear 
fair  and  solid  from  without.  The  slanderer  is  neither 
hollow  within  nor  fair  without,  for  he  is  filled  within 
and  is  reeking  without  with  venom.  The  ruffian  who 
assaults  his  victim  face  to  face  may  at  least  show  a 
certain  degree  of  brute  courage  ;  his  victim  may  have 
some  chance  of  defending  himself,  —  may  at  least  know 
that  he  is  attacked,  and  who  his  assailant  is ;  but  the 
slanderer  makes  his  cowardly  attack  without  facing 
either  the  physical  or  the  moral  defence  of  his  victim, 
lago  sought  and  enjoyed  the  friendly  confidence  of  the 
fair,  pure,  innocent  being  whose  "  sweet  body "  and 
good  name  he  was  at  once  so  malignantly  plotting  to 
destroy.  Towards  other  enemies  we  may  feel  placidly 
defiant,  but  who  so  strong,  so  brave,  so  well  panoplied, 
that  he  may  defy  this  one  ?  Only  he  whose  virtue  has 
been  tried  and  proved  beyond  a  doubt.  This,  the  mean- 
est and  most  cowardly  of  all  foes,  is  yet  the  only  one 
before  whom  the  best  and  bravest  have  been  made  to 


SNAKES  IN  THE  GRASS.  125 

cower.  Few  have  escaped  his  deadly  fangs,  darting  forth 
from  dark  lioles  reeking  with  poisonous  slime.  The  more 
eminent  the  victim,  the  fiercer  and  more  venomous  the 
infernal  bites.  Even  the  immortal  Washington,  whom 
we  look  upon  as  the  type  of  all  that  is  good  and  noble 
in  man,  was  during  his  life  the  favorite  victim  of  cal- 
umny ;  and  once  there  were  no  colors  black  enough  to 
paint  our  sainted  Lincoln  in  the  minds  of  thousands 
of  our  fellow-countrymen. 

Learn  from  this  a  lesson  for  to-day  and  for  coming 
days.  Do  not  believe,  as  rival  political  journals  would 
have  you,  that  there  are  no  really  good,  wise,  or  patri- 
otic men  among  our  nation's  leaders.  There  is  corrup- 
tion enough.  Heaven  knows,  and  fraud  enough  in  public 
places  ;  but  not  all  our  legislators  and  officials  are  knaves 
or  fools. 

But  it  is  not  alone  the  eminent  who  feel  the  stings  of 
calumny.  There  is  scarcely  any  one  in.  public  or  in 
private  life  Avho  has  not  suffered  in  a  greater  or  less 
degree.  Tell  me  now,  what  are  some  of  the  incentives 
to  this  contemptible  crime  ? 

Frederick  Fox.  Envy,  Some  people  cannot  bear  to 
see  others  more  prosperous  or  popular  than  themselves, 
and  so  they  take  this  means  to  bring  them  down  to  their 
own  level  or  below  it. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes  ;  the  serpent  calumny  is  often  the 
spawn  of  that  other  serpent  you  have  named.     Go  on. 

Henry  Phillijis.  Eevenge.  A  coward  who  does  not 
dare  to  revenge  himself  openly  for  a  real  or  a  fancied 
injury  may  try  what  seems  to  him  a  safer  way. 

Archibald  Watson.  Another  form  of  cowardice,  which 
leads  a  person  to  try  to  escape  punishment  or  censure 
by  fastening  his  own  guilt  upon  another. 

Dr.  Dix.  You  may  well  call  it  another  form  of  cow- 
ardice, and  it  is  hard  to  say  which  form  is  the  more 
contemptible.     Go  on. 

Susan  Perkins.     Prejudice. 


126  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Charles  Fox.     Uncharitableness. 

LucT/  Snow.     Love  of  gossip. 

D7\  Dix.  The  last  three  you  have  named,  particularly 
the  third,  may  be  the  least  malignant  of  all  the  motives 
to  bear  false  witness  against  our  neighbor,  but  they 
probably  are  responsible  for  by  far  the  greater  aggre- 
gate of  mischief  on  account  of  their  greater  prevalenceo 

We  need  not  devote  much  of  our  Talk  to  the  more 
flagrant  sins.  The  greater  part  of  offences  against  the 
civil  law  need  form  the  subject  of  no  long  homilies 
here.  Their  revolting  names  are  comment  enough  of 
themselves.  Mankind  is  a  race  of  sinners,  but  not  of 
criminals.  As  comparatively  few  fall  victims  to  sav- 
age beasts  of  prey,  while  countless  multitudes  die  from 
the  attacks  of  invisible  foes  that  people  the  water  and 
the  air,  so  it  is  not  great  crimes  that  most  people  need 
to  be  warned  against,  but  little  faults  that  grow  unseen, 
perhaps,  and  unsuspected  in  their  minds  and  hearts,  — 
little  faults  which,  however,  if  unrestrained  in  their 
growth,  may  develop  into  crime.  You  all  know  that  it 
was  never  the  first  act  of  dishonesty  that  consigned  a 
man  to  the  felon's  cell,  nor  the  first  indulgence  in  uncon- 
trolled hatred  that  condemned  him  to  the  scaffold. 

Let  us  now  return  to  our  specific  subject.  I  have  no 
fear  lest  any  of  us  may  become  an  lago,  but  are  we  always 
guiltless  of  the  sin  of  bearing  false  witness  against  our 
neighbor  ?  If  we  never  cherish  the  fiercer  and  baser 
passions  of  envy  and  revenge,  if  we  never  screen  our- 
selves from  the  righteous  indignation  of  our  fellow-men 
by  sacrificing  to  it  the  reputation  of  our  innocent  neigh- 
bor, are  we  always  free  from  the  prejudice,  uncharitable- 
ness, and  love  of  scandal  Avhich  have  made  havoc  of  so 
many  fair  names  ?  Do  we  never  form  unfavorable  opin- 
ions of  persons  with  whom  we  have  too  little  acquain- 
tance to  justify  any  verdict,  good  or  bad  ?  What  is 
more  to  the  point,  do  we  never  freely  express  those 
opinions  to  others  ?    Are  we  always  inclined  to  put  the 


SNAKES  IN   THE  GRASS.  127 

best  constructions  \ipon  the  words  and  acts  of  those  wlio 
are  better  known  to  us  ?  Do  we  never  detect  ourselves 
relating  with  malicious  satisfaction  or  hearing  with 
equal  relish  some  piece  of  petty  scandal  ? 

Let  us  never  forget  that  our  neighbor's  reputation  is 
worth  more  to  him  than  houses  or  lands  or  any  other 
earthh'  treasure. 

Kemember  that  there  i«  nothing  more  tender  than  a 
good  name.  A  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  a  sidelong  glance, 
a  curl  of  the  lip,  may  wound  it  *'  past  all  surgery."  Al- 
ways think  before  you  speak,  but  especially  before  you 
speak  of  your  absent  neighbor,  whose  utter  defenceless- 
ness  in  your  hands  should  appeal  to  your  pity  and  your 
chivalry.  You  know  not  how  many  times  you  may 
have  thoughtlessly  lowered  him  in  some  one's  esteem 
for  the  mere  sake  of  being  interesting,  spicy,  or  witty. 
Ah,  how"  many  hearts  have  been  pierced,  how  many 
fair  fames  have  been  besmirched,  for  the  sake  of  a 
paltry  witticism  !  Would  you  destroy  your  neighbor's 
property  for  sport  ?     Do  not  that  which  is  worse  ! 

Louisa  Thompson.  I  wonder  how  many  there  are 
among  us  whose  consciences  are  entirely  at  ease  now. 
And  yet,  who  can  avoid  prejudice  ?  It  is  so  natural  to 
judge  strangers  by  some  unpleasing  expression  of  face 
or  peculiarity  of  manner.  One  of  the  ladies  I  love  and 
admire  most  among  my  acquaintances  I  once  thought 
the  proudest,  the  most  selfish  and  unapproachable. 
The  worst  of  it  is  that  I  did  not  hesitate  to  speak  of 
her  as  such  among  my  friends.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  day  when  I  made  her  acquaintance  and  found  how 
completely  I  had  been  deceived.  If  only  I  were  sure 
that  all  I  have  said  of  her  since  had  entirely  undone 
the  mischief,  I  should  be  happy  indeed.  I  bitterly  real- 
ize that  a  word  once  littered  can  never  be  recalled.  I 
say  these  tilings  publicly,  in  the  \\o\)e  that  they  may 
help  towards  the  reparation  I  am  so  anxious  to  make  to 
one  of  the  sweetest-souled  women  I  ever  knew. 


128  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Dr.  Dix  \_with  feeling'].  You  may  Le  assured,  Miss 
Thompson,  there  is  no  one  here  who  tliinks  the  less  of 
you  for  the  noble  words  you  have  just  spoken. 

Julia  Taylor.  Dr.  Dix,  I  suppose  you  would  pro- 
nounce pure  love  of  gossip  to  be  the  greatest  of  all  the 
destroyers  of  reputation? 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes  ;  because,  though,  as  I  have  said,  it 
may  be  the  least  malignant  ii*  intention,  it  is  undoubt- 
edly the  most  prevalent.  It  pervades  all  classes,  from 
the  cultivated  readers  of  the  city  society  journal  to  the 
country  sewing  circle  and  the  frequenters  of  the  notori- 
ous corner  grocery. 

Thomas  Dunn.  Pardon  me  if  I  take  excej)tion  to 
your  adjective  "  cultivated." 

Dr.  Dix.  The  word,  as  Artemus  Ward  would  say, 
"was  spoke  sarkastic."  But  there  are  none  who  lay 
claim  to  higher  "  culture  "  than  some  of  those  to  whom 
I  referred.  Of  course  their  claim  is  an  utterly  false 
one.  Personalities  are  the  favorite  food  of  ignorant 
and  empty  minds.  Those  whose  thoughts  rise  to  sci- 
ence, art,  literature,  history,  or  matters  which  pertain 
to  the  well-being  of  their  race,  their  country,  their 
state,  their  city  or  town,  or  even  the  street  on  w^hich 
they  live,  have  no  leisure  for  personal  gossip,  either  of 
town  or  country,  newspaper  or  rural  store. 

One  of  the  subjects  proposed  for  our  Talks  is  the 
relation  between  secular  study  and  morals.  One  point 
has  already  been  made.  Here  we  may  add  another  -. 
One  cannot  very  easily  study  algebra  or  Greek,  and 
blacken  his  neighbor's  character  at  the  same  time. 


XXV. 
GREAT  IS  TRUTH,  AND  IT  WILL  PREVAIL. 

Dr.  Dix.  You  have  observed  that  in  these  Talks  on 
Truth  and  Truthfulness  I  have  made  use  of  very  plain 
language.  As  the  homely  saying  is,  I  have  called  a 
spade  a  spade,  and  not  an  agricultural  implement. 
The  intentional  uttering  of  an  untruth  with  intent  to 
deceive  I  have  called  a  lie.  I  might  have  used  a  word 
which  would  have  fallen  more  smoothly  upon  your  ears 
and  upon  mine,  —  "  misrepresentation,"  for  instance,  or 
"  equivocation,"  *'  prevarication,"  "  coloring,"  or  "  em- 
bellishment." Why  do  these  words  seem  smoother 
than  the  little  monosyllable  which  is  so  obnoxious  to 
people  in  general,  and  to  the  culprit  himself  in  partic- 
ular ?  Certainly  not  on  account  of  their  articulate 
sound.  In  each  of  these  polysyllables  there  are  harsh 
consonants,  while  the  little  monosyllable  contains  only 
a  liquid  and  a  vowel  sound,  —  the  smoothest  of  all.  It 
is  because  the  little  word  is  so  uncompromising  in  its 
significance.  Italian  to  the  ear,  it  is  blunt  Saxon  to 
the  comprehension.  Like  a  smooth,  round  bullet,  it 
goes  straight  to  the  mark.  Some  people  profess  to  re- 
gard it  as  coarse  :  it  is  not  coarse  ;  it  is  simply  strong 
and  exact.  It  is  unpopular  because  it  represents  an 
ugly  thing  in  its  naked  ugliness.  Ugly  things  must  be 
spoken  of  sometimes  :  we  cannot  fight  our  enemies  effi- 
ciently without  facing  them.  There  are  lies  which  are 
rarely  or  never  called  by  their  true  name,  —  lies  of  look 
and  gesture,  even  of  silence  and  total  inaction. 

"  I  did  not  speak  a  word  to  you  that  was  not  strictly 
true,"  pleads  a  clever  culprit  to  the  victhn  of  his  cuu- 


130  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

ningly  contrived  deception.  But  that  is  only  another 
lie.  Tlie  words  tliemselves  were  but  breatli :  if  their 
import  was  intended  to  be  misleading,  it  matters  not  if 
their  actual  meaning  could  be  sworn  to,  they  told  as 
black  a  lie  as  if  no  mean  and  cowardly  cunning  had 
been  used  in  their  construction.  But  perhaps  no  word 
whatever  was  uttered.  Still,  it  matters  not.  The 
tongue  is  not  the  only  organ  of  speech  we  possess  :  the 
eyes  speak,  and  the  hands  ;  the  whole  body  may  be  elo- 
quent with  the  utterance  of  truth  or  falsehood.  If  a 
stranger  asks  me  his  way,  and  I  point  with  my  finger 
in  the  wrong  direction,  have  I  not  lied  to  him  ?  If 
only  the  tongue  can  commit  this  sin,  then  it  is  only 
necessary  for  a  man  to  be  born  deaf  and  dumb  to  be  the 
very  Truth  incarnate. 

George  Williams.  I  think  people  sometimes  tell 
what  is  not  quite  true,  not  from  intentional  dishonesty, 
but  from  mere  carelessness.  They  do  not  think  it 
worth  while  to  take  the  pains  necessary  to  state  the  ex- 
act truth  ;  they  think  that  what  they  say  is  near  enough 
to  the  truth. 

Dr.  Dix.  I  want  to  speak  of  that  notion  of  "  near 
enough  "  and  "  well  enough."  There  is  no  doubt  that 
among  the  proverbs  which  have  been  abused  is  the  one 
that  tells  us  that  "  whatever  is  worth  doing  at  all  is 
worth  doing  well."  If  it  were  always  understood  to 
mean  exactly  what  it  says,  it  would  be  less  likely  to  be 
abused ;  but  there  are  some  persons  w'ho  know  nothing 
of  adjectives  and  adverbs  but  the  superlative  degree. 
Many  things  which  are  worth  doing  well  are  not  worth 
doing  in  the  best  possible  manner.  Nature,  with  end- 
less time  and  endless  space  at  her  disposal,  can  afford 
to  aim  at  perfection  in  every  minute  detail  of  her  Avork ; 
but  a  man's  life  is  but  a  span,  and  he  must  select. 
There  is  such  a  thing  as  sacrificing  the  whole  to  its 
most  insignificant  parts.  Chinese  pictures  are  some- 
timee  exhibited  as  curiosities  (they  certainly  are  not 


GREAT  IS  TRUTH.  131 

•works  of  art),  whose  minutest  details  have  been  finished 
with  an  elaboration  appealing  equally  to  our  wonder 
and  our  pity  for  the  patient  toiler,  while  the  general 
effect  may  be  inferior  to  that  of  the  caricature  on  a 
child's  slate. 

Joseph  CracJdm.  Some  people  study  Greek  and  Latin 
on  the  Chinese  principle. 

Dr.  Dix.  That  stupid  blunder  has  had  its  day.  The 
classical  scholar  who  makes  etymology,  syntax,  and 
mechanical  prosody  an  end,  rather  than  a  means  to  the 
more  thorough  understanding  of  classical  literature,  is 
an  anachronism. 

There  is  far  more  danger,  however,  of  abuse  in  the 
other  direction.  Things  that  are  worth  doing  are  much 
more  likely  not  to  be  done  thoroughly  enough  than  too 
thoroughly.  "  "Well  enough  "  and  "  near  enough  "  are 
the  greatest  obstacles  to  successful  achievement  that  lie 
in  the  way  of  scholarship  or  any  other  department  of 
human  effort.  They  who  make  these  their  mottoes  are 
the  ones  who  are  surest  to  fail,  and  who  at  best  never 
rise  above  mediocrity. 

We  shall  soon  talk  about  Industry  and  Work.  What 
has  just  been  said  will  then  apply  as  well  as  now  ;  but 
we  have  not  yet  finished  Avith  the  great  subject  of  Truth. 
Whatever  else  you  may  be  in  danger  of  doing  too  thor- 
oughly, you  can  never  be  too  exact  in  your  adherence 
to  the  truth.  There  is  no  "  well  enough  "  here  but  the 
very  best,  no  "  near  enough  "  but  the  truth  itself. 

If  you  quote  an  author,  do  not  be  satisfied  with  giv- 
ing his  drift,  unless  that  is  all  you  are  pretending  to 
do :  give  his  exact  language.  By  the  change  of  a  single 
word  you  may  unwittingly  spoil  the  force,  beauty,  and 
symmetry  of  the  passage  you  attempt  to  quote  ;  and 
you  have  no  more  right  to  slander  an  author,  living  or 
dead,  than  any  other  of  your  fellow-men.  A  beautiful 
countenance  seen  through  a  twisted  pane  of  glass  may 
be  distorted  to  an  ugly  caricature.     An  unskilful  por- 


132  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

trait  painter  may  excite  your  indignation  and  disgust 
by  tlie  misplacement  of  a  single  line.  If  you  misquote 
an  author,  you  are  like  a  twisted  pane  of  glass  or  an 
unskilful  portrait  painter. 

Florence  Hill.  An  author's  works  are  usually  acces- 
sible ;  but  suppose  we  have  occasion  to  quote  a  speaker, 
public  or  private,  what  shall  we  do  ?  We  are  not  all 
gifted  with  the  memory  of  a  Webster  or  a  Macaulay. 

Dr.  Dix.  In  that  case  you  can,  of  course,  make  no 
pretence  of  verbal  quotation.  Your  hearers  understand 
fully  that  you  are  attempting  to  give  only  the  sub- 
stance, and  hold  you  alone  responsible  for  the  language. 
But  this  does  not  exempt  you  from  the  utmost  possible 
care.  This  is  one  of  the  things  you  cannot  do  too  welL 
You  have  no  more  right  to  color  or  distort  the  substance 
of  what  you  have  heard  than  you  have  to  misquote  the 
words  you  have  read. 

Henry  Jones.  Please,  Dr.  Dix,  is  n't  it  sometimes 
right  to  tell  a  lie  ? 

Dr.  Dix  [smiling^.  What  do  you  think  yourself, 
Henry  ? 

Henry  Jones.     I  think  it  is. 

Dr.  Dix.     When,  for  instance  ? 

Henry  Jones.  My  Sunday-school  teacher  told  me  that 
it  was  better  to  break  a  bad  promise  than  to  keep  it. 

Dr.  Dix.  Your  teacher  might  have  explained  to  you 
that  breaking  a  bad  promise  and  telling  a  lie  are  two 
entirely  different  things. 

Henry  Jones.  Why,  sir,  if  a  boy  promises  to  help 
another  boy  to  steal,  and  does  n't  keep  his  promise, 
has  n't  he  told  a  lie  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  If,  when  he  made  the  promise,  he  did  not 
intend  to  keep  it,  it  was  certainly  a  lie  ;  but  the  promise 
itself  was  the  lie,  not  the  breaking  of  it. 

Henry  Jones.  Do  you  think  as  my  Sunday-school 
teacher  does  ? 

Dr.  Dix.     Certainly.     I  agree  with  him  perfectly. 


GREAT  IS  TRUTH.  133 

You  cannot  undo  a  past  fault :  the  only  thing  you  can 
do  is  to  repent  of  it,  repair  it  as  far  as  possible,  and  re- 
solve not  to  repeat  it. 

George  Williams.  I  think  I  can  state  cases  in  which 
it  would  be  right  to  tell  a  lie. 

Dr.  Dix.     Possibly.     Let  us  hear  them. 

George  Williams.  In  war,  to  deceive  an  enemy ;  in 
peace,  to  save  life  or  property  from  murderers  or  rob- 
bers. Would  n't  a  bank  cashier  be  justified  in  telling 
any  number  of  lies  to  prevent  a  burglar  from  robbing 
hundreds  of  trusting,  innocent  people  ?  "What  would 
you  think  of  a  mother  who  should  scruple  to  lie  to  a 
band  of  savages  to  save  herself  and  her  children  from 
their  tomahawks  ? 

Dr.  Dix  [^rising,  and  speaking  with  deliberate  empha- 
sis']. Scholars,  there  is  lying  wliich  is  not  lying,  just 
as  there  is  killing  which  is  not  murder.  The  command 
is.  Thou  shalt  not  kill ;  but  when  your  country's  ene- 
mies are  arrayed  in  battle  line  against  her  life,  the 
more  killing  you  do  until  the  hostile  flag  is  struck  and 
the  hostile  arms  are  grounded,  the  braver,  better  hero 
you  are.  May  the  day  speedily  come  when  no  such 
heroism  shall  be  needed !  They  who  feel  —  and  need  to 
feel  —  no  scrui)les  in  killing  to  save  home  and  country, 
neighbor  and  child,  need  scarcely  hesitate  to  tell  that 
which  is  not  true  in  such  a  cause.  Such  lying  is  not 
lying :  they  who  are  not  entitled  to  their  lives  if  you 
can  take  them  are  surely  not  entitled  to  the  truth 
which  you  can  withhold  from  them.  But  all  this  only 
serves  to  show  the  essential  barbarism  of  war,  which 
seems  to  justify  all  lesser  evils  necessary  to  its  prosecu- 
tion. 

Frederick  Fox.  Last  "Wednesday  you  hinted  at  some 
exceptions  to  the  rule  that  the  lower  animals  and  inani- 
mate things  tell  the  truth.  Are  not  these  exceptions 
somewhat  similar  to  those  we  have  just  been  talking 
about  ? 


134  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Dr.  Dix.  I  was  about  to  speak  of  that  very  resem- 
blance. However,  I  should  much  rather  hear  your 
views  on  the  subject. 

Frederick  Fox.  We  have  learned  in  our  study  of 
nature  of  many  curious  instances  of  deception  among 
both  plants  and  animals,  either  for  the  sake  of  defence 
against  enemies  or  for  the  sake  of  more  easily  securing 
their  prey.  If  actions  speak  louder  than  words,  and  if 
a  lie  may  be  told  by  a  look  as  well  as  by  speech,  the 
"  walking-stick  "  is  a  continual  liar.  It  seems  to  be  al- 
ways saying,  "  I  am  not  an  insect,  —  I  am  only  a  dry 
twig  ;  so  you  need  n't  trouble  yourself  to  try  to  eat  me." 
The  leaf-insect  of  Java,  and  the  still  more  wonderful 
leaf-butterfly,  which  when  in  repose  cannot  without 
great  difficulty  be  distinguished  from  a  leaf  of  the  tree 
or  shrub  on  which  it  is  in  the  habit  of  alighting,  are 
greater  liars  still. 

Joseph  Cracklin.  If  Nature  sets  us  such  examples  of 
deception,  why  need  we  look  upon  it  as  so  very  heinous 
an  offence,  after  all  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  They  appear  to  me  to  be  very  much  such 
examples  as  the  mother  would  set,  in  the  case  supposed 
by  Williams.  Self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of  na- 
ture for  the  humblest  insect  and  plant  as  well  as  for 
man.  The  very  fact  that  it  is  shown  in  this  cause,  and 
in  this  cause  alone,  should  teach  us  the  sacredness  both 
of  life  and  of  truth. 

As  I  said  at  the  outset,  if  a  man  were  Ss  truthful  and 
honest  as  Xature,  he  would  be  a  far  better  and  nobler 
being  than  he  is.  Nature  never  adulterates  her  goods 
nor  offers  lying  samples  of  them.  Her  apples  are  al- 
ways apples,  and  not  base  imitations.  Kor  are  they 
always  placed  at  the  top  of  her  barrel.  There  is  never 
any  cheapening  glucose  in  her  sugar-cane. 

Susan  Perkiiis.  Dr.  Dix,  you  told  us  last  week  that 
Washington  was  shamefully  slandered  during  his  life. 
However  great  the  effect  may  have  been  at  the  time, 


GREAT  IS  TliUTU.  135 

it  has  all  passed  away.  Does  n't  this  show  that  even 
slander,  wicked  and  mean  as  it  is,  cannot  work  perma- 
nent harm  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Not  only  slander,  but  all  kinds  of  untruth 
are  destined  to  die.  Truth  only  is  immortal.  History 
is  one  long  story  of  the  mighty  conflict  between  truth 
and  falsehood,  in  which  the  victory  is  always  at  last 
on  the  side  of  truth.  Each  succeeding  century  has  wit- 
nessed the  crashing  ruin,  one  after  another,  of  the  great 
strongholds  of  error.  They  are  not  all  down  yet,  but 
they  are  all  doomed. 

Magna  est  Veritas,  et  prcevalehit} 

*  Great  is  truth,  and  it  will  prevaiL 


XXVI. 
HONESTY. 

Dr.  Dix.  We  began  our  consideration  of  the  habits 
which  we  wish  to  cultivate  with  that  of  trutlifuhiess. 
Closely  allied  to  it  is  the  habit  of  honesty ;  that  is, 
justice  in  our  dealings  with  others  as  regards  property. 
In  its  widest  sense  honesty  includes  truthfulness,  but 
I  use  the  word  now  in  the  commonly  restricted  sense 
which  I  have  defined.  I  spoke  of  the  two  virtues  as 
closely  allied.  It  is  often  said,  you  know,  that  he  who 
steals  will  surely  lie. 

Jonathan  Tower.  But  he  who  lies  will  not  surely 
steal. 

Dr.  Dix.  That  depends,  I  suppose,  somewhat  on  what 
kind  of  lies  he  is  in  the  habit  of  telling. 

Archibald  Watson.  The  old  sailor  I  spoke  of  the 
other  day  is  thought  to  be  honest  enough  so  far  as 
money  goes. 

Dr.  Dix.  Very  likely.  As  a  class  I  believe  sailors 
are  not  often  accused  of  avarice,  whatever  their  other 
failings  may  be.  Nevertheless,  I  think  I  should  prefer 
to  trust  my  own  financial  interests  to  one  who  is  honest 
in  the  widest  sense  of  the  term,  in  words  as  well  as  in 
deeds.  I  intend  no  personal  offence  to  your  nautical 
acquaintance,  Watson.  I  am  sjDeaking  only  on  general 
principles. 

Archibald  Watson.     I  fully  agree  with  you.  Dr.  Dix. 

Dr.  Dix.  Our  national  Declaration  of  Independence 
names  among  man's  inalienable  rights,  life,  liberty,  and 
the  pursuit  of  happiness.  As  property  of  some  sort 
and  in  some  quantity  is  necessary  to  at  least  two  of 


HONESTY.  137 

these,  tlie  right  to  it  is  generally  regarded  as  next  in 
sacredness  to  those  of  life  and  personal  liberty. 

Helen  Sawi/er.  The  other  morning  you  said  that  a 
man's  reputation  is  worth  more  to  him  than  houses  or 
lands  or  other  earthly  treasure. 

Dr.  Dix.  And  a  moment  ago  I  implied  a  different 
order,  in  the  general  estimation.  Perhaps,  as  man  ad- 
vances in  civilization,  there  may  come  about  a  complete 
readjustment  in  the  acknowledged  values  of  things, 
when  even  the  courts  will  inflict  a  severer  penalty  upon 
a  convicted  slanderer  than  upon  a  convicted  thief.  The 
tendency  seems  to  be  in  that  direction.  The  time  was 
when  there  was  no  such  crime  as  libel  recognized  in  law, 
—  no  crime,  in  fact,  except  such  as  was  committed  di- 
rectly against  person  or  property.  The  penalty  for  all 
other  offences  was  left  to  the  sufferer  himself,  who  often 
wiped  them  out  in  the  blood  of  the  offender. 

Isabelle  Anthony.  That  he  was  allowed  to  do  this 
seems  to  show  that  those  other  offences  were  recognized 
as  crimes,  even  if  the  law  did  not  punish  them. 

Dr.  Dix.  Not  necessarily,  for  the  most  trivial  insult 
was  often  punished  in  this  way,  though  it  might  excite 
only  the  laughter  of  all  save  the  aggrieved  party  him- 
self. 

Charles  Fox.     You  refer  to  the  duel  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes.  That  was  the  only  means  of  redress 
men  once  had  for  all  offences  which  were  too  subtle  in 
their  nature  for  the  clumsy  hands  of  the  law  to  lay  hold 
upon.  If  we  look  back  far  enough  in  history,  we  shall 
find  that  there  was  no  other  redress  even  for  theft.  Be- 
tween that  day  and  this,  when  such  offences  as  libel  ancj 
the  "alienation  of  affection"  are  punishable  by  law, 
there  is  a  wide  gulf  indeed  !  If  the  improvement  goes 
on,  if  the  time  ever  comes  when  all  things  shall  be  esti- 
mated at  their  true  value,  and  those  offences  which  are 
in  reality  the  worst  shall  meet  with  the  severest  penal- 
ties, the  mere  stealing  of  one's  piuse  will  stand  lower 


138  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

in  the  list  than  it  stands  to-day.  The  slaying  of  the 
body  is  not  the  only  crime  that  is  worse  than  robbery 
or  libel ;  the  slaying  of  the  soul  is  immeasurably  worse 
than  either.  Is  it  not  a  singular  commentary  on  the 
civil  code  that  the  chief  offence  attributed  to  the  im- 
personation of  all  evil  is  rarely  punishable  by  human 
laws  ?  They  among  men  who  most  closely  resemble 
that  impersonation  in  their  wickedness,  they  whose  lives 
are  devoted  to  the  work  of  undermining  virtue  and  purity 
in  the  souls  of  their  fellow-men,  are,  so  far  as  human 
laws  are  concerned,  very  often  totally  unAvhipped  of 
justice.' 

Joseph  CracMin.  Dr.  Dix,  do  you  believe  there  is 
such  a  being  as  the  devil  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  It  matters  not  whether  I  do  or  not.  Suffice 
it  that  there  is  a  spirit  of  evil  rampant  among  men, 
a  moral  gravitation  which  tends  to  draw  their  souls 
downward,  as  the  earth  draws  their  bodies  downward. 
Against  this  power  there  is  an  inward  force  which  tends 
to  hold  them  erect.  And  as  their  bodies  grow  strong 
by  continual  resistance  to  the  downward  pull  of  earth, 
so  may  their  souls  grow  strong  and  erect  by  their  never- 
ending  battle  with  evil. 

In  what  I  said  before  this  digression  do  not  under- 
stand me  to  belittle  the  wickedness  of  theft.  That 
there  are  still  lower  depths  of  wickedness  does  not 
diminish  the  depth  of  this.  Its  guilt  is  so  obvious,  so 
palpable,  that  though,  as  I  said,  it  has  not  always  been 
subject  to  legal  penalty,  there  can  never  have  been  a 
time  when  it  was  not  looked  upon  as  a  heinous  offence. 

Helen  Sawijer.  The  ancient  Spartans  are  said  to  have 
encouraged  and  rewarded  it. 

Dr.  Dix.  The  ancient  Spartans  were  an  exceptional 
people  even  for  the  savage  times  in  which  they  lived. 
They  encouraged  theft,  not  as  a  meritorious  act  in  itself, 
but  as  affording  opportunities  for  the  exercise  of  the 
courage,  skill;  and  address  which  they  prized  so  highly. 


HOXESTY.  139 

If  these  virtues  were  lacking,  as  shown  by  failure  in 
the  attempt  or  by  detection,  both  the  attempt  and  the 
lack  of  virtues  were  punished  together. 

From  the  very  first  the  undisturbed  possession  of 
property  must  have  been  regarded  by  men  in  general 
as  one  of  their  inalienable  rights.  It  has  always  been 
indispensable  to  their  comfort,  happiness,  even  life. 
Without  it,  the  most  powerful  incentive  to  industry 
and  the  exercise  of  skill  would  not  exist.  The  rudest 
savage  must  always  have  looked  upon  it  as  the  just 
reward  of  his  labor.  The  bow  and  arrows  he  had  made, 
the  hut  he  had  built  with  his  own  hands,  were,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  his  very  own ;  and  the  attempt  on  the 
part  of  his  fellow-savage  to  deprive  him  of  them,  with- 
out giving  him  a  fair  equivalent,  was,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  to  be  resented  and  punished. 

Julia  Taylor.  But  when  his  chief  required  them, 
even  without  recompense,  I  suppose  he  had  no  thought 
of  resisting. 

Dr.  Dix.  Like  his  civilized  brother  he  was  obliged 
to  yield  to  superior  force ;  but  the  inmost  feelings  of 
his  heart  were,  no  doubt,  very  much  the  same  as  yours 
would  have  been  in  his  place. 

Out-and-out,  naked  theft  or  robbery  is  one  of  those 
gross  crimes  which  I  described  the  other  morning  as 
needing  no  comment.  Its  revolting  name  is  comment 
enough  for  all  in  whose  souls  the  light  of  conscience  is 
not  yet  extinguished.  But  there  are  forms  of  stealing 
and  robbing  which  may  well  be  commented  on  in  a  se- 
ries of  Talks  on  Morality,  because  their  real  nature  is 
not  always  recognized.  Like  some  forms  of  lying  which 
we  have  mentioned,  they  arc  disguised  by  euphemisms  ; 
they  are  not  naked,  out-and-out  thefts  and  robberies, 
but  "  embezzlements,"  "  defalcations,"  "  breaches  of 
trust,"  "  sharp  practice,"  "  able  financiering,"  etc.  Mas- 
querading under  these  more  or  less  respectable  aliases, 
they  take  their  places  among  other  business  transac- 


140  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

tions  as  well-dressed  thieves  and  robbers  mingle  among 
honest  men.  But,  in  reality,  two  little  words  name 
them  all,  just  as  one  little  monosyllable  names  all  forms 
of  intentional  deception.  The  man  who  takes  that  which 
does  not  justly  belong  to  him,  either  by  intelligent,  free 
gift  or  fair  exchange,  is  a  thief  or  a  robber,  whether  he 
does  it  with  or  without  the  sanction  of  the  law.  He 
may  call  himself,  and  others  may  call  him,  a  clever  busi- 
ness man,  an  able  financier  ;  he  is  a  thief  or  a  robber  as 
truly  as  if  he  had  literally  as  well  as  virtually  picked 
his  victim's  pocket. 

Henry  Phillips.  Why  is  it  necessary  to  use  two 
words  ?     "NVliy  is  not  simply  "  thief  "  enough  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Because  there  is  an  important  moral  as 
well  as  legal  distinction  between  the  two  words.  Theft 
is  properly  defined  as  the  wrongful  appropriation  of 
property  without  the  owner's  knowledge  or  consent, 
while  robbery  is  the  wrongful  appropriation  of  it  with 
his  knowledge  and  with  or  without  his  consent,  which 
may  be  wrongfully  gained,  as,  for  instance,  by  threats 
or  violence.  There  are  numerous  legal  subdivisions  of 
each  of  these  crimes,  but  the  moral  law  is  but  little 
concerned  with  them.  In  its  view  all  who  take  that 
which  does  not  rightfully  belong  to  them  are  either 
thieves  or  robbers,  whether  they  do  so  with  or  without 
the  sanction  of  the  civil  law. 

Isabelle  Anthony.  AVliy  does  the  civil  law  ever  sanc- 
tion the  wrongful  appropriation  of  property  ? 

Susan  Perkins.  Why,  indeed,  does  it  sanction  any 
act  that  the  moral  law  condemns  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  That  is  too  broad  a  subject  to  enter  upon 
to-day.     We  will  try  to  answer  you  next  time. 


XXVII. 
HONESTY,  CONTINUED. 

Dr.  Dix.  "  Wliy  does  the  civil  law  ever  sanction  the 
wrongful  appropriation  of  property  ?  Why,  indeed, 
does  it  sanction  any  act  that  the  moral  law  condemns  ?  " 

One  reason  is  that  its  province  is  necessarily  so  largely 
confined  to  what  is  external,  material,  and  tangible. 
"What  a  man  does  with  his  body  may  be  known  to  all ; 
what  he  does  with  his  mind  is  known  fully  only  to  him- 
self. Every  offence  of  the  one  may,  therefore,  meet 
with  full  recompense  at  the  hands  of  the  law,  while 
the  deepest  wickedness  of  the  other  may  be  unrecog- 
nized and  unpunished,  save  by  that  moral  retribution 
which  awaits  both  open  and  secret  sins  with  equal  cer- 
tainty. 

So  what  a  man  involuntarily  suffers  in  his  body 
through  the  means  of  another  may  be  known  to  all  and 
the  offender  may  be  duly  punished ;  what  he  suffers  in 
his  mind  and  character  through  the  baleful  influence  of 
an  evil  companion  may  be  known  scarcely  to  himself. 
This  deepest  of  all  Avrongs  is  the  one  which  most  com- 
pletely evades  the  civil  law. 

But  though  the  civil  law  may  permit  the  ruin  of  my 
soul  with  impunity,  why,  you  ask,  need  it  permit  the 
theft  or  robbery  of  my  purse,  a  purely  physical  matter  ? 

Because,  though  my  purse  is  a  purely  physical  mat- 
ter, the  act  by  which  it  is  wrongfully  taken  from  me 
may  not  be ;  it  may  be,  in  fact,  as  purely  psychical  as 
the  act  by  which  my  virtue  is  taken  from  me. 

If  a  man  puts  his  hand  into  my  pocket  and  takes  my 
purse  without  my  knowledge,  he  is  a  thief,  whom  the 


142  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

law  may  severely  punish  ;  if  he  snatches  it  from  my 
hand,  or  takes  me  by  the  throat  and  rifles  it  from  my 
pocket,  he  is  a  robber,  and  ma}^  be  punished  with  still 
greater  severity ;  if  he  persuades  me  to  part  with  it  by 
promise  of  a  material  equivalent,  and  does  not  make 
good  his  promise  according  to  specifications,  he  has  ob- 
tained it  "under  false  pretences,"  and  may  be  dealt 
with,  but  not  so  severely  as  the  technical  thief  or  rob- 
ber ;  if  he  persuades  me  to  part  with  it  by  offering  or 
promising  that  which  he  knows  to  be  valueless,  or  of 
less  value  than  the  price  I  pay,  he  is  a  swindler,  and 
may  or  may  not  be  punished,  according  to  circum- 
stances. 

But  there  are  plenty  of  ways  in  which  he  may  wrong- 
fully take  it  from  me  with  absolute  impunity,  so  far  as 
human  laws  are  concerned.  He  may  do  it  without  my 
knowledge,  as  by  charging  unreasonable  profits  ;  or  with 
my  consent  obtained  through  my  folly,  ignorance,  or 
weakness  (which  is  morally  the  same  as  no  consent),  as 
by  selling  me  some  worthless  or  worse  than  worthless 
nostrum,  or  by  inducing  me  to  invest  in  some  enterprise 
which  he  knows  to  be  hopeless.  In  either  case  he  is  as 
truly  a  thief  as  the  poor,  unskilled  wretch  who  knows 
not  how  to  steal  according  to  statute.  Again,  he  may 
do  it  with  my  full  knowledge  and  in  contemptuous  defi- 
ance of  my  indignation  and  powerless  attempts  at  self- 
protection,  as  many  a  millionaire,  trust  company,  or 
other  monopoly  has  done  and  is  doing  to-day.  How 
does  he  or  they  differ  in  reality  from  the  strong,  bold, 
insolent  robber  who  seizes  his  victim  by  the  throat  and 
rifles  his  pocket? 

Joseph  CracMln.  Are  millionaires,  trust  companies, 
and  monopolies  always  robbers  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Your  question  is  not  a  call  for  information, 
but  an  implication  against  my  fairness  and  candor.  You 
know  very  well  that  they  are  not  always  robbers,  that 
some  of  the  noblest  men  the  world  has  ever  seen  have 


HONESTY.  143 

been  men  of  great  wealth  honestly  obtained.  You  know, 
furthermore,  that  combinations  of  men  for  greater  effi- 
ciency in  business  do  not  necessarily  involve  dishonesty 
in  dealing,  that  such  combinations  may  be,  and  often 
are,  of  the  greatest  benefit  not  only  to  the  individuals 
composing  them  but  to  the  general  public  also. 

Thomas  Dunn.  It  is  true,  however,  is  it  not,  that 
such  combinations,  especially  when  they  amount  to  mo- 
nopolies, offer  very  strong  temptations  to  dishonesty  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Great  power  is  always  a  great  temptation, 
whether  it  be  physical,  moral,  political,  or  financial.  But 
virtue  may  be  strong  enough  to  withstand  even  that 
temptation.  Of  actual  monopolies,  as  they  are  frequently 
secured  and  managed,  I  have  no  defence  to  make.  Too 
often  their  prime  object  is  fraud.  Secured  by  the  ruth- 
less crowding-out  of  weaker  rivals,  one  by  one  at  first, 
and  finally  by  hundreds  or  by  thousands  at  a  time,  and 
when  secured  carried  on  by  the  wholesale  legalized 
plundering  of  society,  —  what  name  can  be  properly 
applied  to  them  but  that  of  gigantic  robbers  ? 

If,  however,  men  were  as  mighty  in  virtue  as  they 
are  in  intellect,  even  monopolies  might  be  as  powerful 
agents  for  good  as  they  are  for  evil. 

Henri/  Phillips.     How  would  that  be  possible  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  There  is  nothing  necessarily  dishonest  or 
cruel  in  organization.  On  the  contrary,  when  its  pur- 
poses are  right  and  just  it  is  most  beneficent  in  its 
effects.  If  all  the  charitable  people,  for  example,  in 
our  State  should  unite  into  one  body  and  carry  out 
their  schemes  of  benevolence  under  one  well-managed 
system,  their  power  for  good  would  be  immensely  in- 
creased. That  would  be  nothing  move  or  less  than  a 
monopoly  of  practical  beneficence.  So  if  all  the  com- 
petent workers  at  the  various  guilds  should  be  allowed 
by  their  stronger  representatives  respectively  to  organ- 
ize for  the  more  efficient  and  economical  carrying  on 
of  their  business,  there  might  be  a  grand   system   of 


144  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

monopolies  that  would  be  of  incalculable  benefit  both 
to  the  workers  themselves  and  to  society  in  general. 

Thomas  Dunn.  Always  supposing  the  controlling 
powers  were  honest  and  public-spirited.  I  suppose  the 
civil  codes  of  an  age  afford  us  a  pretty  fair  means  of 
judging  of  the  average  standard  of  morality  of  that  age. 

Dr.  Dix.  It  is  often  said  that  the  rulers  elected  by 
a  people  fairly  represent  their  average  morality.  As 
to  the  laws  which  those  rulers  enact,  they  more  gener- 
ally represent  the  average  standard  aimed  at  as  attain- 
able than  that  actually  attained.  How  far  short  of  the 
standard  of  the  moral  law  that  is,  we  have  already  illus- 
trated to  some  extent.  And  yet  the  conduct  of  many 
so-called  respectable  men  shows  plainly  that  the  civil 
law  is  their  highest  standard.  In  all  their  dealings 
their  aim  seems  to  be  to  keep  just  within  its  require- 
ments. So  long  as  they  do  this  they  defiantly  challenge 
criticism  of  their  conduct,  though  they  may  rob  the 
widow  and  the  fatherless  with  relentless  cruelty. 

Julia  Taylor.  However  great  future  improvements 
may  be,  I  don't  see  how  it  can  ever  be  possible  for  the 
two  standards  to  be  the  same. 

Dr.  Dix.  If  the  day  ever  comes  when  they  are  the 
same,  it  will  certainly  not  be  by  the  enforcement  of 
such  civil  penalties  as  are  now  in  vogue.  When  the 
civil  law  requires,  as  the  moral  law  has  always  re- 
quired, that  the  rich  shall  not  grind  the  faces  of  the 
poor  in  any  way  whatsoever,  that  the  intelligent  and 
the  educated  shall  not  use  their  intelligence  and  educa- 
tion to  oppress  the  ignorant  and  the  simple,  it  will  be 
obeyed  not  through  dread  of  fines  or  imprisonments, 
but  through  the  fear  of  overwhelming  public  obloquy, 
—  a  far  more  terrible  penalty  to  many  persons  than 
either  fine  or  imprisonment. 

Susan  Perkins.  If  the  time  you  speak  of  ever  comes, 
there  will  be  no  need  of  the  civil  law ;  the  moral  law 
will  be  all-sujfiicient. 


HONESTY.  145 

Dr.  Dlx%  Not  qiiite  all-sufficient,  Miss  Perkins.  The 
prevention  of  crime  is  not  the  only  function  of  the  civil 
law.  The  simplest  form  of  society  —  even  of  those 
whose  intentions  were  morally  unexceptionable  —  could 
scarcely  hold  together  Avithout  laws  governing  their  in- 
tercourse in  many  ways  upon  which  the  moral  law  has 
no  bearing.  Such  laws  are  the  only  ones  in  which  mul- 
titudes to-day  are  personally  interested  so  far  as  their 
own  conduct  is  concerned.  Did  you  ever  think  how 
small  a  proportion  of  the  crowds  that  walk  the  streets 
of  a  city  have  any  personal  relations  with  the  blue- 
coated  guardians  of  its  peace,  —  ever  notice,  in  fact, 
whether  they  are  on  their  beats  or  not  ? 

Helen  Mar.  I  was  struck  by  your  mention  of  the 
abuse  of  intellectual  as  well  as  physical  power.  A 
strong-armed  ruffian  that  overpowers  his  victim  and 
robs  him  of  his  purse  is  looked  upon  and  punished  as 
one  of  the  worst  of  criminals,  but  the  strong-brained 
ruffian  that  overpowers  his  victims  by  the  thousands, 
perhaps,  and  robs  them  of  purse,  house,  and  land  to- 
gether by  his  superior  intellectual  power  is  looked  upon, 
as  you  have  said,  only  as  a  great  financier.  I  do  not 
see  why  one  is  not  in  reality  a  criminal  as  well  as  the 
other,  and  as  much  greater  a  criminal  as  his  robbery  is 
greater. 

Dr.  Dix.  So  the  moral  law  regards  him ;  so  in  fact 
he  is. 


XXVIII. 
A  BLACK  LIST. 

Dr.  Dix.  You  may  mention  this  morning  some  of 
the  common  ways  in  which  the  law  of  honesty  as  re- 
spects the  right  of  property  is  violated. 

Archibald  Watson.  Shall  we  include  those  we  have 
already  talked  about  ? 

Dr.  Dix.     Yes. 

Archibald  Watson.  Well,  then,  there  is  plain  out-and- 
out  stealing,  such  as  is  recognized  and  punished  by  the 
law. 

James  3Iurphy.     And  robbery. 

Frank  Williams.  And  obtaining  goods  under  false 
pretences. 

Henry  Jones.     Forgery. 

Lucy  Snoiv.     Counterfeiting. 

Charles  Fox.     Overcharging  for  goods  or  services. 

Jonathan  Tower.     Failing  in  business. 

Jane  Simpson.  Is  it  necessarily  dishonest  to  fail  in 
business  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  No  more  than  in  any  other  department  of 
human  effort,  —  no  more  than  it  is  dishonest  to  fail  in 
art,  or  authorship,  or  oratory. 

Jonathan  Tower.  But  does  n't  a  man  who  pays  only 
twenty -five  cents  to  a  man  to  whom  he  owes  a  dollar 
cheat  him  out  of  seventy-five  cents  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Whether  you  can  properly  call  it  cheating 
or  not  depends  entirely  on  the  circumstances.  Men  in 
the  business  world  sustain  a  very  close  relation  to  one 
another :  the  misfortune,  folly,  inefficiency,  or  guilt  of 
one  necessarily  involves  others  in  difficulties  for  which 


A  BLACK  LIST.  147 

they  are  in  no  wise  responsible  ;  unforeseen  changes  in 
demand  and  supply  often  reduce  one  to  ruin  while  they 
may  raise  another  to  affluence,  through  no  fault  of  the 
one  or  merit  of  the  other.  It  is  for  the  general  interest 
of  all  that  failures  from  such  causes  should  not  be  ir- 
retrievable, —  that  the  unfortunate  should  be  allowed  a 
fair  chance  to  go  on  in  their  business  or  to  begin  anew. 
By  just  provisions  of  the  law  and  by  general  consent 
they  are  allowed  to  do  so. 

Jonathan  Tower.  When  I  said  "  failing  in  business," 
I  should  have  added  "  to  make  money." 

Dr.  Dlx.  Ah,  that  is  a  very  different  matter.  'No 
one  will  dispute  the  dishonesty  nor  the  meanness  par- 
ticularly contemptible  of  that  kind  of  "  failing."  Well, 
scholars,  you  may  go  on  Avith  your  black  list. 

Henry  Phill'qts.     Usury. 

Jane  Shn^json.     What  is  usury  ? 

Dr.  Dix.     Phillips  ? 

Henry  PhilUps,  Charging  more  than  the  legal  rate 
for  the  use  of  money. 

Jane  Simpson.  I  should  n't  think  you  could  call  that 
dishonest.  You  needn't  borrow  money  if  you  don't 
want  to  pay  what  the  lender  asks  for  it. 

Henry  FMlUps.  The  trouble  is,  you  may  be  obliged 
to  borrow,  whether  you  Avant  to  or  not. 

Jane  Simpson.     Then  go  to  some  one  else. 

Dr.  Dix.  In  other  words,  if  you  don't  want  to  be 
robbed,  go  to  some  one  who  will  not  rob  you.  That  is 
rather  a  poor  plea  for  the  robber,  is  it  not  ?  So  the 
murderer  might  say  of  his  victim,  "  If  he  did  n't  want 
to  be  killed,  he  should  n't  have  come  to  me ;  he  should 
have  gone  to  some  one  who  would  not  have  killed 
him." 

Henry  Fhillips.  Besides,  there  might  have  been  no 
one  else  who  would  be  willing  to  lend. 

Jane  Simpson.     But  is  n't  usury  ever  right  ? 

Dr.  Dix.    Yes,  there  are  circumstances  when  it  might 


148  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

be  justified.  Suppose,  for  instance,  a  man  should  ask  a 
loan  of  a  person  who  would  rather  keep  his  money  for 
other  purposes  than  lend  it  at  the  legal  rate,  but  who 
could  afford  to  accept  a  higher  rate.  There  would  be 
nothing  morally  wrong  in  a  mutual  agreement  satisfac- 
tory to  both,  unless,  indeed,  the  borrower  were  of  that 
improvident  class  who  are  always  trying  to  borrow  at 
ruinous  rates,  and  who  need  to  be  protected  from  their 
own  recklessness. 

Geoffrey  Jejik'ins.  Are  there  not  some  people  who 
hold  that  all  interest  is  wrong  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  It  is  difficult  to  understand  the  basis  of 
their  objection.  It  is,  of  course,  more  advantageous  to 
me  to  have  my  money  in  my  own  possession  than  in  that 
of  another :  if  I  submit  to  disadvantage  for  the  benefit 
of  another,  it  seems  no  more  than  equitable  that  I  should 
be  compensated.  However,  this  may  be  one  of  the  con- 
troverted topics  that  are  ruled  out  of  our  discussions. 
Go  on. 

Helen  Mar.  One  of  the  worst  and  most  cruel  forms 
of  dishonesty  is  taking  advantage  of  the  necessities  of 
the  poor  to  buy  their  goods  or  labor  for  less  than  their 
value. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes  :  this  is  what  we  mean  when  we  speak 
of  "  grinding  the  faces  of  the  poor." 

Ah,  when  will  the  day  come  when  the  heart  of  Mercy 
will  no  longer  be  wrung  by  the  sight  of  man's  inhu- 
manity to  man !  The  poor  woman  in  Hood's  "  Song 
of  the  Shirt "  may  speak  for  all  her  suffering  kindred. 
Miss  Mar,  will  you  repeat  the  poem  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  But  sometimes  it  is  the  poor  man  who 
wrongs  the  rich  man.  He  says  to  himself,  "  A  few  pen- 
nies or  a  few  dollars  are  nothing  to  him ;  but  they  are 
bread  to  me."  So  he  feels  no  compunction.  He  wrongs 
his  rich  neighbor,  but  he  wrongs  himself  still  more. 
What  is  bread  to  his  body  is  poison  to  his  soul. 


A  BLACK  LIST.  149 

Geoffveij  JenJclns.  Should  lie  starve  to  death  rather 
than  steal  ? 

Dr.  D'lx.  Happily  that  is  an  alternative  to  which 
few  are  forced  in  this  age,  at  least  in  this  country. 
Charity,  public  or  private,  Avill  generally  come  to  his 
aid  long  before  that  extremity  is  reached. 

Susan  Perkins.  Not  always.  A  few  days  ago  I  read 
of  a  whole  family  dying  from  starvation  in  the  very 
heart  of  New  York  city. 

Dr.  Dix.  I  read  the  same  account.  Before  they 
would  call  for  help  they  were  all  too  far  gone  to  make 
their  condition  known,  and  it  was  not  discovered  till  too 
late.  Terrible  as  was  their  fate,  therefore,  they  were 
themselves  chiefly  responsible  for  it,  —  not,  of  course, 
for  the  state  of  society  that  makes  such  extreme  pov- 
erty possible.  Society  itself  is  responsible  for  that, 
and  a  fearful  responsibility  it  is.  Who  knows  what  a 
fearful  reckoning  may  come  some  day  ! 

Florence  Hill.  That  family  might  never  have  been 
able  to  make  their  condition  known.  Perhaps  they 
would  not  have  been  believed  if  they  had  tried. 

D):  Dix.    Yes  ;  all  that  is  possible. 

Lucy  Snow.  If  it  was  so,  it  was  no  better  than  mur- 
der. 

Isahelle  Anthony.  It  was  no  better  than  murder  as  it 
was. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Dr.  Dix,  would  you  have  blamed 
those  poor  people  if  they  had  stolen  to  save  themselves 
from  starvation  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  It  would  be  a  hard  heart,  even  if  a  just 
judgment  (which  I  do  not  say  it  would  be),  that  Avould 
do  so.  Yet  if  they  had  had  the  energy  to  steal  they 
would  have  had  the  energy  to  beg. 

Jane  Simpson.  Some  f5oor  people  would  rather  starve 
to  death  than  either  beg  or  steal. 

Dr.  Dix.  But  they  have  no  right  to  starve  to  death 
if  they  can  prevent  it.     Begging  is  humiliating,  but  not 


150  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

wrong  if  unavoidable.  Suicide,  whether  by  starvation 
or  any  other  means,  is  an  immeasurably  greater  crime 
even  than  theft. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  So,  if  one  must  either  starve  or 
steal,  it  woul^  be  right  for  him  to  steal  ? 

Dr.  Dlx.  My  best  answer  is  to  say  that  the  English 
judge  who  not  only  acquitted  the  poor,  starving  woman 
who  snatched  a  loaf  of  bread  from  a  baker's  stand,  but 
took  up  a  subscription  in  her  behalf,  did  precisely  as 
any  other  man  with  a  heart  in  his  bosom  would  have 
done  in  his  place. 

But,  as  I  said,  there  is  little  probability  that  any  of 
you  will  ever  be  forced  to  choose  between  these  terrible 
alternatives.  Let  us  return  to  our  list.  The  wealthy 
employer  is  not  always  the  defrauder ;  sometimes  it  is 
the  poor  laborer.     How  ? 

Jonathan  Toiver.     By  joining  in  a  "  strike." 

Dr.  Dlx.  Ah,  that  is  one  of  the  controverted  sub- 
jects that  we  must  not  discuss  here. 

Jonathan  Toiver.  I  beg  your  pardon.  By  wasting 
time  when  working  "  by  the  day." 

Joseph  CrarkUn.  By  slighting  his  work  when  work- 
ing "  by  the  job." 

Henry  Dhllllps.  By  doing  more  than  he  knows  is 
required  or  desired  when  the  opportunity  is  given,  for 
the  sake  of  getting  more  pay. 

Dr.  Dlx.     Please  illustrate. 

Henry  Thilllps.  Why,  for  instance,  a  mechanic 
sometimes  puts  very  fine  work  into  an  article  that  he 
knows  is  to  be  used  only  for  common  purposes. 

Isabelle  Anthony.  And  a  doctor  sometimes  continues 
to  make  his  calls  upon  a  patient  when  he  knows  that 
his  services  are  no  longer  needed. 

Dr.  Dix  [laughing'].  I  suppose  the  physician  him- 
self must  be  allowed  to  be  the  best  judge  of  that.  Go 
on  with  your  black  list. 

Julia  Taylor.    Borrowing  without  intending  to  repay, 


A  BLACK  LIST.  151 

or  -without  being  reasonably  sure  of  being  able  to  repay, 
or  carelessly  neglecting  to  repay. 

Ltcei/  Snow.  Returning  borrowed  articles  in  a  worse 
condition  than  when  borrowed. 

Jonathan  Tower.  Borrowing  goods  and  returning 
them  when  the  market  price  has  fallen. 

Thomas  Dunn.  Borrowing  money  when  prices  are 
low  and  returning  it  when  they  are  high. 

Br.  Dix.  That 's  rather  a  subtle  point  for  this  place, 
is  n't  it,  Dunn  ? 

Thomas  Dunn.  I  don't  think  it  need  be  ;  it  is  about 
the  same  thing  Tower  said. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes,  that  is  true,  goods  being  the  price  of 
money.     Go  on. 

Frederick  Fox.     Coining  silver. 

Dr.  Dix.  That  topic  I  rule  out  altogether.  Try  once 
more. 

Frederick  Fox.     Making  "  corners  in  the  market." 

Dr.  Dix.  I  think  I  will  allow  that.  You  may  ex- 
plain. 

Frederick  Fox.  The  usual  way  is  for  capitalists  to 
buy  up  all  they  can  get  of  some  article  for  which  there 
is,  or  may  be,  a  demand,  store  it  away,  and  thus  pro- 
duce an  artificial  scarcity.  This  brings  the  article  up 
to  an  unnatural  price.  Articles  of  absolute  necessity, 
such  as  wheat  or  other  grains,  are  most  often  chosen 
for  this  purpose,  because  the  profits  are  surer :  men 
must  have  bread  whatever  its  prices  may  be.  It  is,  in 
my  opinion,  the  most  gigantic  and  villainous  kind  of 
robbery  that  can  be  committed,  because  by  it  everybody 
is  robbed. 

Dr.  Dix.  Your  language  is  strong ;  but  perhaps  none 
too  much  so.     Proceed. 

Geoffrey  Jeiikins.  Giving  false  returns  of  your  prop- 
erty to  escape  taxes. 

Archibald  Watson.  Moving  out  of  town  just  in  sea- 
son to  escape  taxes. 


152  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Charles  Fox.  Kot  paying  a  debt  until  long  after  it 
is  due,  when  you  know  that  no  interest  will  be  asked 
for. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes ;  great  cruelty  is  often  inflicted  in  this 
way  tipon  poor  people  who  are  dependent  on  prompt 
payments. 

Isabelle  Anthony.  Being  less  careful  of  a  hired  horse 
or  house  than  you  would  be  of  your  own. 

Florence  Hill.  Putting  the  best  fruit  on  the  top  of 
the  barrel. 

Stisan  Perkins.  Selling  water  for  milk,  sand  for  su- 
gar, and  slate  for  coal. 

Jane  Simpson.  Men  do  worse  than  that ;  if  they 
did  n't  put  poison  in  our  food,  we  could,  perhaps,  tolerate 
their  water,  sand,  and  slate. 

Julia  Taylor.  Not  paying  your  fare  on  the  cars  if 
the  conductor  forgets  to  collect  it. 

Helen  Mar.  Wantonly  injuring  private  or  public 
property,  as,  for  instance,  whittling  fences,  marking  on 
walls,  books,  etc.  I  heard  a  story  once  of  a  man  who 
whittled  the  counter  in  a  store.  The  proprietor  came 
behind  him  and  snipped  off  a  piece  from  his  coat. 
"  What  did  you  do  that  for  ?  "  asked  the  whittler  in 
great  indignation.  "  This  piece  of  cloth  will  just  pay 
for  that  chip  of  wood,"  replied  the  proprietor. 

Sally  Jones.     They  were  both  thieves,  were  n't  they  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes,  they  were  both  thieves ;  but  the  petty 
vandal  richly  deserved  his  loss.     Go  on. 

Frank  Williams.  Not  trying  to  find  the  owner  of 
anything  you  have  found. 

George  Williams.  Putting  a  few  cents'  worth  of 
sarsaparilla  and  iodide  of  potassium  into  a  bottle  and 
selling  it  for  a  dollar. 

Henry  Phillips.     Gambling. 

Joseph  Cracklin.  I  know  that  gambling  is  wrong ; 
but  I  don't  see  how  you  can  call  it  actual  dishonesty. 

Henry  Phillips.     If  a  man  takes  another  man's  prop« 


A  BLACK  LIST.  153 

erty  without  giving  him  an  equivalent,  what  else  can 
it  be  ? 

Joseph  CracJdui.  But  he  does  that  whenever  he 
accepts  a  gift. 

Henry  Phillips.     Winnings  are  not  gifts. 

Dr.  Dix.  They  are  not  looked  upon  as  such  by  either 
the  loser  or  the  winner.  Until  they  are  paid  they  are 
regarded  as  debts  as  truly  as  if  they  were  so  much  bor- 
rowed money. 

Henry  Phillqys.  They  are  considered  even  more  sar 
cred:  they  are  called  "  debts  of  honor.^^ 

Joseph  Cracklin.  But  there  is  a  sort  of  equivalent 
given. 

Dr.  Dix.     What  is  it  ? 

Joseph  Cracklin.  An  equal  chance  to  win  the  other 
man's  money. 

Henry  Phillips.  An  equal  chance  to  rob  the  other 
man  of  his  money,  that  is.  That  does  not  prevent  it 
from  being  robbery,  any  more  than  the  equal  chance  on 
both  sides  to  take  life  prevents  duelling  from  being 
murder. 


XXIX. 
HONOR. 

Dr.  Dix.  My  good  boy  —  my  hero  sans  peur  et  sans 
reproche  —  is  the  '■'■  soul  of  honor."  What  does  that 
mean  ?  It  means  that  he  is  honest,  not  because  "  hon- 
esty is  the  best  policy,"  but  because  it  never  occurs  to 
him  to  be  dishonest.  If  dishonesty  were  the  best  pol- 
icy, as  some  shrewd  men  seem  to  believe,  if  we  may 
judge  by  their  conduct,  he  would  still  be  honest.  It 
means  that  he  is  truthful,  not  because  he  is  afraid  of 
the  penalty  that  might  follow  if  he  were  detected  in  a 
lie,  but  because  he  loathes  a  lie  with  his  whole  soul : 
the  very  thought  of  it  makes  his  lip  curl  with  scorn. 
It  means  that  he  is  generous,  not  because  he  hopes  and 
expects  to  be  rewarded  for  his  generosity,  but  because 
it  is  as  natural  for  him  to  be  big-hearted  as  it  is  for  an 
athlete  to  be  broad-shouldered :  he  could  n't  be  dishon- 
orable or  mean  any  more  than  a  giant  could  be  a  dwarf ; 
if  he  should  try,  he  would  n't  know  how  to  set  about  it. 
He  will  stand  by  a  friend,  not  because  he  expects  his 
friend  to  stand  by  him,  but  because  that  is  the  only 
thing  to  do  :  active  and  suggestive  as  his  mind  is,  it  is 
not  suggestive  enough  to  think  of  leaving  his  friend  in 
the  lurch.  It  means  that  he  is  grateful  for  benefits  re- 
ceived, not  because  it  would  not  look  well  to  be  un- 
grateful, not  because  men  would  despise  him  if  he  were 
ungrateful,  but  because  he  can't  help  being  grateful. 

You  have  heard  of  antipathies.  There  are  some  per- 
sons who  will  grow  faint  at  the  sight  of  a  spider,  and 
others  who  will  almost  become  wild  at  the  sight  of  a 
snake.     It  is  useless  to  convince  them  that  the  spider 


HONOR.  155 

and  the  reptile  are  actually  as  harmless  as  butterflies, 
—  they  are  not  harmless  to  them.  The  soul  of  honor 
has  a  very  similar  antipathy  to  all  things  that  are  mean 
and  contemptible.  The  soul  without  honor  has  no  such 
antipathy  :  to  it  they  may  seem  as  harmless  as  butter- 
flies ;  it  might  not  even  be  able  to  recognize  them  as 
mean  and  contemptible  except  that  it  has  learned  that 
they  are  so  regarded  by  others. 

The  general  sense  of  mankind  is  a  very  important 
guide  to  those  who  are  below  the  average  in  honor  and 
virtue  :  whatever  they  may  be  within  their  own  hearts 
and  souls,  it  enables  them  to  preserve  a  certain  respec- 
tability in  their  outward  conduct.  The  fear  of  what 
others  will  think  of  them  is  the  chief  or  only  restraint 
upon  their  meanness  and  wickedness,  unless  it  be  the 
stronger,  even  more  ignoble  fear  of  what  others  will  do 
to  them. 

But  though  they  have  learned  that  there  is  a  generally 
recognized  standard  of  honor  and  respectability  above 
their  own  natural  standard,  still  they  cannot  believe  in 
its  reality  :  in  their  secret  hearts  they  believe  it  is  an 
artificial  standard,  raised  from  motives  of  general  pol- 
icy. In  other  words,  they  cannot  help  judging  others 
by  themselves.  Living  in  a  valley  and  breathing  its 
noxious  gases,  they  cannot  see  the  heights  above  them 
where  others  dwell  in  a  purer  atmosphere.  To  them 
there  are  no  really  honest  men.  "  Every  man  has  his 
price,  if  you  only  bid  high  enough."  Fabricius,  who 
"could  no  more  deviate  from  the  path  of  honor  than 
the  sun  could  leave  his  course  in  the  heavens,"  is  to 
them  a  myth,  an  impossibility.  Boys  and  girls,  put  no 
faith  in  the  man  who  believes  that  there  is  no  honor  in 
his  fellow-men :  be  sure  he  is  judging  others  by  himself. 
There  are  authors  who  describe  only  villains,  —  they 
little  know  that  they  are  only  showing  to  the  world 
their  own  bad  hearts.  Dean  Swift  had  a  clever  brain, 
but  a  villainous  heart. 


156  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Lucy  Snoiv.  Is  not  the  general  sense  of  mankind  im- 
portant to  the  honorable  as  well  as  to  the  dishonorable  — 
That  is  not  exactly  what  I  meant  to  say.  I  meant, 
Ought  not  every  one  to  regard  the  opinions  of  others  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Most  certainly,  Miss  Snow.  But  while  the 
man  of  honor  duly  values  the  opinion  of  others,  he  val- 
ues his  own  opinion  of  himself  still  more  highly. 

Lucy  Snoiv.  What  is  the  difference  between  that  and 
vanity  or  egotism  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  The  difference  is^  that  vanity  and  egotism 
are  most  sensitive  to  the  opinion  of  others,  while  honor 
is  most  sensitive  to  that  of  self.  Vanity  thirsts  for  ad- 
miration on  account  of  personal  beauty,  dress,  wit,  fine 
horses  or  houses,  graceful  accomplishments,  etc. ;  when 
the  objects  of  the  desired  admiration  are  less  frivolous, 
such  as  intellectual  achievements,  social,  financial,  mili- 
tary, or  political  power,  vanity  rises  to  ambition  more 
or  less  laudable ;  when  the  object  is  still  higher,  virtu- 
ous, benevolent,  honorable  conduct,  it  becomes  no  longer 
vanity,  but  a  most  noble  and  praiseworthy  aspiration. 
The  man  of  honor  may  feel  all  these  in  due  measure, 
but  high  above  them  all  is  his  desire  for  the  approval 
of  his  own  conscience  and  self-respect. 

To  the  man  absolutely  devoid  of  honor  his  oAvn  opin- 
ion of  himself  is  nothing:  that  of  others  is  everything, 
either  on  account  of  the  love  of  approbation,  which  the 
lowest  possess  in  some  degree,  or  for  a  worse  reason. 

Frank  Williams.     For  what  worse  reason  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  For  the  reason  that  a  sheep's  clothing  some- 
times serves  a  wolf  better  than  his  own. 

The  moral  furnishings  of  some  persons  are  very  much 
like  the  household  furnishings  of  a  family  I  once  visited 
with  my  father  on  his  professional  rounds,  when  I  was 
a  very  small  lad,  so  small  that  the  family  did  not  tliink 
it  necessary  to  keep  me  confined  in  the  "  show  rooms  " 
where  their  other  callers  sat.  As  you  will  never  know 
who  this  family  were  or  where  they  lived,  I  do  not  feel 


HONOR.  157 

that  I  am  violating  confidence  in  telling  you  about  them. 
The  contrast  between  the  "  show  rooms  "  and  the  rest 
of  the  house  was  so  strong  that  it  made  an  indelible 
impression  upon  my  childish  mind.  Such  neatness  and 
elegance  here,  such  abominable  dirt  and  squalor  there  ! 
Nothing,  evidently,  was  too  fine  for  the  parlor,  dining- 
room,  and  guest  chamber,  where  the  ovxter  world  some- 
times penetrated ;  but  as  to  the  kitchen  and  family  bed- 
rooms, what  did  it  matter  ?  "  No  one  Avould  see  them." 
Ah,  how  many  of  us  furnish  the  secret  chambers  of  our 
minds  and  hearts  as  richly  as  we  furnish  the  parlors  ? 

]Most  people  are  exceedingly  lenient  critics  of  them- 
selves ;  they  rarely  underestimate  their  own  wisdom, 
cleverness,  or  personal  attractions,  and  as  to  their  moral 
qualities,  they  generally  consider  them  well  iip  to  the 
average.  They  may  be  conscious  of  having  committed 
acts  which  they  would  severely  condemn  in  others,  but 
then  there  are  always  peculiarly  mitigating  circum- 
stances in  their  own  cases.  It  is  astonishing  how  ten- 
derly a  culprit  will  view  his  own  derelictions  from  duty. 
Surely  no  one  else  was  ever  so  strongly  tempted  ;  it  was 
the  fault  of  his  peculiar  temperament,  and,  pray,  how 
could  he  help  that  ?  Besides,  what  he  has  done  was 
not  so  very  bad,  after  all,  under  the  circumstances ; 
others  have  done  worse  ;  you  yourself  would  probably 
have  done  the  same  if  you  had  been  in  his  situation. 
Or  he  may  go  still  further  and  throw  the  blame  entirely 
on  some  one  else  who  put  the  temptation  in  his  way, 
and  virtually  obliged  him  to  yield  to  it.  If  men  in  gen- 
eral always  judged  others  by  themselves  there  would 
be  few  misanthropes ;  it  would  be  a  pretty  good  sort  of 
world,  after  all. 

James  ITurpht/.     What  is  a  misanthrope,  Dr.  Dix  ? 

Dr.  Dix.     Well  ? 

Helen  Sawijer.  One  who  hates  or  despises  the  whole 
race  of  men  —  except  himself. 

Dr.  Dix.    Sometimes  he  includes  himself,  but  oftener 


158  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

lie  judges  himself  in  the  lenient  way  I  have  been  de- 
scribing, and  maintains  the  balance  in  his  judgment  by 
undue  severity  towards  others. 

But  the  man  of  honor  is  his  own  severest  critic. 
"What  he  might  pardon  to  the  weakness  or  peculiar 
temptations  of  others  he  cannot  pardon  in  himself. 
He  is  esj^ecially  severe  in  regard  to  what  he  does  or  is 
tempted  to  do  in  secret.  "  Coward ! "  he  will  say  to 
himself,  "  woald  you  do  this  thing  because  there  is  no 
eye  to  see  you  ?     Shame  upon  you  !  " 

We  will  suppose  that  a  private  letter  falls  in  his 
way.  He  sees  from  the  superscription  that  it  is  in- 
tended for  his  political  rival.  It  probably  contains  in- 
formation that  would  be  of  the  greatest  importance  to 
himself.  The  seal  has  already  been  broken  :  he  might 
read  it  through  and  through,  and  no  man  but  himself 
would  be  the  wiser.  Does  such  a  thought  eiiter  his 
miud  ?  If  so,  he  spurns  it  from  him  as  if  it  were  a 
venomous  reptile. 

He  encloses  it  in  an  envelope  and  addresses  it  to  his 
rival  with  a  polite  note  of  explanation.  The  receiver 
opens  it  and  —  turns  pale.  His  wily  plans  are  all  known ; 
he  knows  what  human  nature  is,  he  knows  what  he 
would  have  done.  As  the  sender  has  not  condescended 
to  make  any  statement,  his  conviction  is  the  stronger. 

He  acts  upon  his  conviction :  he  informs  his  hench- 
men that  it  is  all  up  with  them,  and  gives  his  grounds 
for  the  information.  Indirectly  it  comes  to  the  ears  of 
the  finder  of  the  letter  that  he  took  the  dishonorable 
advantage  which  fortune  threw  in  his  way.  What  does 
he  do? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  The  time  was  when  he  would  have 
taken  the  only  recognized  course  to  vindicate  his  honor. 

Dr.  Dix.     Challenged  his  slanderer  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.     Yes,  Dr.  Dix. 

Dr.  Dix.  And  would  that  have  accomplished  his 
purpose  ? 


HONOR.  159 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  It  would  at  least  have  silenced  the 
tongue  of  slander. 

Dr.  Dix.  As  well  as  his  own  tongue  or  that  of  his 
antagonist  forever.  But  how  would  that  have  affected 
the  fact  of  his  real  honor  or  dishonor  ?  Whatever  that 
fact  was,  the  challenge  would  probably  have  followed 
the  accusation. 

Geoffrei/  Jenkins.  It  would  not  have  affected  the  real 
fact  in  the  least. 

Dr.  Dix.  What  would  he  probably  do  in  this  more 
civilized  age  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenlcins.  He  would  indignantly  deny  the 
charge,  and  trust  to  what  men  already  knew  of  his  char- 
acter for  the  vindication  of  his  honor. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes ;  that  would  probably  be  all-sufficient. 
But  a  far  better  course  would  be  to  treat  the  accusation 
as  utterly  beneath  the  notice  of  the  man  of  honor  he 
professes  to  be.  His  friends  —  who  could  testify  that 
whatever  he  might  have  discovered  from  the  tempting 
document  he  kept  scrupulously  to  himself  —  would  do 
the  rest. 


XXX. 

"WHEN  THE  CAT'S  AWAY  THE  MICE  WILL  PLAY." 

Dr.  Dix  \_entermg  his  sdioolroom  late  and  finding  it 
in  disorder'].  Ah,  it  seems  that  I  have  interrupted  your 
diversions  and  pastimes.  This  sudden  unnatural  still- 
ness is  quite  oppressive.  —  Pray  go  on  just  as  if  I  were 
not  here.  —  Well,  why  don't  you  go  on  ?  Why  don't 
you  throw  that  crayon,  Cracklin,  as  you  were  intending 
to  do  ? 

Joseph  Cracklin.     Do  you  order  me  to  throw  it,  sir  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  By  no  means.  I  asked  you  to  do  as  you 
would  if  I  were  not  present.  Would  that  justify  you  ? 
Would  it  release  you  from  the  proper  penalty  of  your 
misconduct  ? 

Joseph  Cracklin.  N-no,  Dr.  Dix,  But  I  was  not  the 
only  one  ;  the  others  were  —  ^ 

Dr.  Dix.  We  have  already  expressed  our  sentiments 
on  the  courage,  manliness,  and  honor  of  throwing  blame 
upon  others.  They  will  undoubtedly  speak  for  them- 
selves. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.     I  threw  crayons,  Dr.  Dix. 

Archibald  Watson.     And  so  did  I. 

Jonathan  Toiver.     And  I. 

Dr.  Dix.  That  is  very  well  so  far.  "  Open  confes- 
sion is  good  for  the  soul."  Does  any  one  else  wish  to 
relieve  his  mind  ? 

Henry  Phillips.  I  drew  that  picture  on  the  black- 
board ;  but  —  but  I  was  intending  to  rub  it  out  before 
you  came. 

Dr.  Dix.  And  you  think,  I  suppose,  that  that  inten- 
tion palliates  your  offence.     I  shall  allude  to  that  kind 


THE  CAT  AWAY,   THE  MICE  WILL  PLAY.      IGl 

of  palliation  presently.  I  await  further  acknowledg- 
ment that  any  one  has  to  make. 

Charles  Fox.     I  called  on  Butters  to  make  a  speech. 

Dr.  Dix.     Yes  ;  and,  Butters,  did  you  respond  ? 

Trumbull  Butters.  No,  Dr.  Dix.  He  and  the  rest 
of  the  boys  are  all  the  time  nagging  me,  —  all  except 
Dunn.  He  tried  to  keep  order  while  you  were  away,  — 
he  and  some  of  the  big  girls. 

Dr.  Dix.  Nagging  is  another  subject  that  we  shall 
do  well  to  consider.  Dunn  and  the  "  big  girls  "  deserve, 
and  hereby  receive,  my  hearty  and  sincere  thanks. 

Susan  Perkins.  I  am  sorry  to  say,  Dr.  Dix,  that  all 
the  "  big  girls  "  are  not  altogether  blameless ;  I  for  one 
am  not.     I  confess  and  apologize. 

Jane  Simpson.     And  I  wish  to  do  the  same. 

Dr.  Dix.  That  is  the  most  honorable  thing  you  can 
do  now,  except  to  resolve  not  to  offend  again.  Well,  if 
there  are  no  more  confessions,  I  will  now  hear  any  fur- 
ther excuses  or  explanations  that  any  one  has  to  offer. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  We  only  thought  we  would  have 
a  little  fun  ;  we  did  n't  think  there  was  any  harm  in  it 
as  long  as  you  were  not  here.  We  could  n't  do  much 
studying,  you  know. 

Dr.  Dix.     W^hy  not  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Because  —  because  there  was  so 
much  noise.     \^La^ighter.~\ 

Dr.  Dix  \_joining  in  the  langh"].  If  all  your  fun  was 
as  funny  as  that,  you  must  have  enjoyed  j'-ourselves ! 

Archibald  Watson.  But  do  jow  really  think,  Dr.  Dix, 
there  was  any  harm  in  our  having  a  little  fun  as  long 
as  you  were  not  here  to  direct  our  work  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Fun  is  a  most  excellent  thing.  It  is  one 
of  the  greatest  blessings  conferred  upon  our  race  ;  it  is 
good  for  the  body,  for  the  mind,  for  the  heart,  for  the 
soul.  Laugh  and  grow  fat ;  be  jolly  and  long-lived.  I 
will  not  yield  to  any  one  in  my  fondness  for  fun.  But 
no  good  thing,  even  fun,  is  good  at  the  wrong  time  and 


162  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

in  the  wrong  place.  The  time  you  have  given  to  it  this 
morning  belonged  to  work.  What  if  I  was  not  here  ? 
When  the  hours  of  work  and  play  were  laid  doAvn  for 
you  no  such  condition  was  affixed  as  "if  Dr.  Dix  is 
here."     I  may  be  late  again,  as  I  was  this  morning. 

You  say,  "  We  wanted  a  little  fun."  Who  are  the  we  ? 
It  seems  there  were  some  of  your  number  who  did  not 
want  it, — some  who  "  tried  to  keep  order."  They  wanted 
the  time  for  study,  and  they  had  a  right  to  it.  Why 
should  you  defraud  them  of  their  right  ?  Your  fun, 
therefore,  was  of  the  kind  we  spoke  of  some  time  ago, 
that  which  injures  or  annoys  others.  It  is  not  unlikely 
that  that  fact  had  something  to  do  with  its  being  funny, 

—  that  and  the  other  fact  that  it  was  in  violation  of  the 
rules  of  school.  Are  you  quite  sure  that  if  it  had  not 
been  for  these  two  conditions  it  would  not  have  been 
rather  tame  fun  ? 

I  say,  what  if  I  was  not  here  ?  Am  I  to  understand 
that  my  presence  is  indispensable  to  the  performance  of 
your  duty  ?  Do  you  do  right  only  because  you  are  afraid 
of  me  ?  If  that  is  the  case,  how  do  I  differ  from  the 
policeman  who  stands  with  his  billy  on  the  corner  of 
the  street,  and  how  do  you  differ  from  those  who  are 
watching  for  him  to  disappear  around  the  corner  ?  Is 
that  why  your  fathers  and  mothers  obey  the  civil  laws, 

—  because  they  are  afraid  of  the  policeman  ?  Is  that 
why  you  will  obey  the  civil  laws  when  you  in  your  turn 
become  men  and  women  ?  School  is  a  civil  community 
on  a  small  scale ;  it  is  governed  by  its  laws  just  as  the 
state  and  the  city  are  governed  by  their  laws.  If  you 
need  a  teacher-policeman  to  keep  you  from  small  viola- 
tions of  law  here,  what  guarantee  have  we  that  you  will 
not  need  a  rougher  policeman  to  keep  you  from  greater 
offences  and  harsher  penalties  hereafter  ? 

Susan  Perkins.  Dr.  Dix,  we  need  your  presence  here, 
not  because  we  are  afraid  of  the  punishments  you  may 
inflict,  but  because  we  are  afraid  of  displeasing  you. 


THE  CAT  AWAY,   THE  MICE   WILL  FLAY.       1G3 

Dr.  Dix.  It  is  very  gratifying  to  hear  you  say  so ; 
still,  the  principle  is  the  same,  for  my  displeasure  is  a 
punishment  to  those  who  care  for  it.  I  believe  you  all 
do  care  for  it,  and  for  this  time  it  shall  be  your  only 
punishment,  —  at  least  the  only  one  /  shall  inflict. 

But  I  wish  you  to  observe  that  I  have  more  than 
ordinary  reason  to  be  displeased.  Have  you  forgotten 
our  last  Talk  ?     What  was  its  subject  ? 

Several   Voices.    Honor. 

Dr.  Dix.  Your  lowered  tones  and  your  downcast 
eyes  show  how  you  think  you  have  illustrated  that 
subject  this  morning.  Does  the  man  of  honor  need  a 
policeman  to  keep  him  to  his  duty  ?  What  cares  he  for 
a  policeman,  whom  a  whole  regiment  with  fixed  bayo- 
nets could  not  drive  from  the  path  of  duty  ! 

As  I  said  a  long  time  ago,  I  cannot  expect  that  one 
Talk  or  a  hundred  will  work  a  complete  transforma- 
tion. Character  is  a  structure  that  is  slow  in  building  ; 
but  it  is  all  the  more  solid  when  built.  But  may  I  not 
hope  that  both  our  Talk  and  the  practical  lesson  of  this 
morning  may  do  something  to  strengthen  the  principle 
of  Honor  in  this  school  ? 


XXXI. 

NAGGING. 

Dr.  Dix.  I  promised  to  speak  of  nagging.  The 
glances  of  resentment  and  strong  disapproval  which 
were  directed  to  the  boy  who  publicly  reported  his  griev- 
ance did  not  escape  my  notice.  ''  The  boys  are  all  the 
time  nagging  me,"  he  says.  Perhaps  you  think,  boys, 
he  was  not  honorable  in  reporting  you.  Well,  since 
"honor  is  the  subject  of  my  story,"  let  us  consider  his 
course  and  yours  from  that  standpoint. 

In  the  first  place,  I  wish  to  give  you  full  credit  for  the 
manly  courage  and  promptness  with  which  you  reported 
your  own  misconduct,  and,  girls,  I  pay  a  like  tribute  to 
your  womanly  courage  and  promptness. 

The  young  man  in  question  acted  the  part  of  an 
informer,  a  talebearer  ;  hence  your  glances  of  scornful 
disapproval.  I  think  I  understand  your  feelings.  I  was 
a  boy  myself  once  ;  I  did  not  spring  into  an  existence 
of  full  maturity,  like  Minerva  from  the  brain  of  Jove. 
And  I  have  not  forgotten  how  I  felt  when  I  was  a  boy  ; 
so  I  suppose  you  are  willing  to  admit  my  competency 
to  discuss  this  matter  with  you. 

I  say  I  have  not  forgotten  how  I  felt  Avhen  I  was  a 
boy.  Why  don't  I  feel  in  the  same  way  now  that  I  am 
a  man  ?  Is  it  because  I  have  grown  less  generous  and 
honorable  ?  I  should  be  sorry  indeed  to  believe  so.  Is 
it  because  my  judgment  is  less  clear  ?  I  can  hardly 
believe  that,  since  judgment  is  one  of  those  faculties 
which  are  usually  most  strengthened  by  years  and  ex- 
perience. No;  my  philosophy  is,  that  boys  develop 
unsymmet'rically  in  their  judgment  and  sentiments,  just 


NAGGING.  165 

as  they  do  in  their  bodies.  While  they  are  growing, 
sometimes  their  legs  and  arms  are  too  long  for  their 
bodies  and  sometimes  they  are  too  short ;  sometimes  their 
hands  and  feet  are  too  large  and  their  shoulders  too 
narrow,  or  they  are  otherwise  "  out  of  drawing."  Never 
mind ;  healthy  maturity  will  bring  symmetry,  or  at  least 
an  approach  to  it.  There  are  similar  disproportions  in 
growing  minds  and  hearts,  which  full  healthy  maturity 
"Will  go  far  to  correct.  The  imagination  and  fancy,  for 
example,  like  the  legs,  are  too  long,  while  the  reason 
and  judgment,  like  the  body,  are  too  short.  "The 
Bloody  Scalper  of  the  Plains  "  is  the  ideal  hero,  who 
will  hereafter  subside  into  the  vulgar  criminal  he  is. 
But  especially  is  the  immature  sense  of  honor  out  of 
proportion.  I  know  of  scarcely  anything  more  gro- 
tesque in  the  whole  range  of  human  nature  than  the 
average  boy's  notion  of  certain  points  of  honor.  Don't 
feel  hurt,  boys ;  I  don't  include  all  points  of  honor,  by 
any  means.  On  some  of  the  most  important,  boys  are 
generally  admirably  strong  and  sound.  On  none  are 
they  more  utterly  absurd  than  the  whole  human  race, 
young  and  old,  has  been  time  and  again.  As  the  biolo- 
gists say,  the  life-history  of  the  race  is  repeated  in  that 
of  the  individual.  Our  race  has  passed  through  its  in- 
fancy and  childhood ;  but  whether  it  has  fully  emerged 
from  its  boyhood  is  a  question  that  can  be  determined 
only  by  comparing  its  present  with  its  future  develop- 
ment. Surely  no  boys'  code  of  honor  could  be  more 
thoroughly  wanting  in  the  first  principles  of  true  honor 
or  common  sense  than  that  which  has  been  especially 
dignified  by  that  title. 

But  I  think  the  individual  case  we  now  have  in  hand 
will  illustrate  some  of  the  points  of  honor  on  whieli 
boys  as  a  class  are  not  always  particularly  strong  and 
sound.     Let  us  consider  the  facts. 

Butters  told  me  nothing  that  I  did  not  already  know. 
I  am  not  quite  deaf  nor  quite  blind.     I  see  and  hear 


166  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

more,  perhaps,  than  you  think.  The  only  question  1 
was  in  doubt  about  was,  whether  your  continual  "  nag- 
ging "  really  troubled  him.  He  bore  it  with  such  good- 
natured  indifference,  so  far  as  I  could  see  at  least,  that 
perhaps  you  were  in  equal  uncertainty  with  myself  in 
regard  to  its  actual  effect  upon  him. 

Archibald  JVatson.  No,  Dr.  Dix ;  we  knew  it  really 
plagued  him,  or  we  should  not  have  kept  it  up. 

Br.  Dix.  Ah,  then  I  must  give  you  credit  for  clearer 
perceptions  than  my  own.  And  yet  I  might  have 
known,  for  the  advice  I  always  give  in  such  cases  is, 
let  them  see  that  you  don't  care  for  their  nonsense, 
and  they  will  soon  tire  of  it.  That  is  precisely  what  I 
thought  Butters  was  doing,  and  I  rather  wondered  why 
the  usual  effect  did  not  follow.  But  then  I  knew  how 
persevering  boys  are  in  such  matters  ;  if  they  showed 
a  like  perseverance  in  a  worthier  cause  we  should  see 
better  results  on  Promotion  Day. 

Let  us  return  to  our  facts.  You  "  knew  it  plagued 
him,"  and  therefore  you  "  kept  it  up."  Could  we  have 
a  better  illustration  of  the  kind  of  fun  you  have  all 
agreed  with  me  in  condemning  ?  Is  it  in  accordance 
with  the  boys'  code  of  honor  ? 

I  wish  it  had  not  plagued  him.  There  are  some 
strong  natures  that  really  care  no  more  for  such  petty 
persecution  than  for  the  buzzing  of  flies.  But  we  can- 
not all  be  like  them.  Because  the  elephant's  hide  is 
impervious  to  the  mosquito,  the  same  does  not  follow  of 
the  horse's  hide  or  even  of  the  tiger's. 

Trumhdl  Butters.  But  boys  are  bigger  than  mos- 
quitoes, —  some  of  them  are  bigger  than  I  am.  They 
would  n't  have  nagged  me  so  much  if  they  were  n't. 
[_Lau(/hter.^ 

Dr.  Dix.  A  palpable  hit.  Butters.  You  seem  able 
to  defend  yourself  with  your  tongue,  at  least. 

Trumbull  Butters.  I  think  I  could  defend  myself  if 
they  did  n't  all  side  against  me.  Twenty  to  one  is  too 
big  odds. 


NAGGING.  167 

Di\  Dlx.  That  deserves  generous  applause,  boys. 
.  .  .  There,  that  will  do  for  the  present. 

Trurtihull  Butters.  They  don't  mean  it  for  applause, 
Dr.  Dix  ;  it 's  only  some  more  of  their  foolish  nonsense. 
But  /  don't  care  for  'em. 

Dr.  Dix.  No ;  you  're  wrong  there,  Butters.  That 
was  genuine,  —  was  it  not,  boys  ? 

Chorus.     Yes,  Dr.  Dix. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Well,  I  will  let  him  alone  here- 
after. I  should  have  been  willing  to  apologize  for  my 
share  of  it,  if  he  hadn't  peached. 

Dr.  Dix.  No,  Jenkins  ;  I  beg  your  pardon,  you  would 
have  done  nothing  of  the  sort.  If  he  had  not  done  ex- 
actly what  he  did  do,  you  would  have  gone  on  indefi- 
nitely with  the  rest  of  the  "  twenty  against  one."  "Why 
should  n't  he  "  peach,"  as  you  call  it  ?  What  other  de- 
fence had  he  against  your  continued  annoyance  ?  As  he 
himself  has  so  justly  and  pertinently  said,  there  were 
too  big  odds  against  him  to  attempt  his  own  defence. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins  [sullenly'].  If  he  had  wanted  it,  we 
would  have  given  him  fair  play.    . 

Dr.  Dix. '  You  mean  that  3'ou  would  have  made  a 
ring  and  let  him  fight  it  out  with  you,  one  by  one  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Y-yes,  Dr.  Dix  [suddenly  coloring'] 
—  I  —  I  did  n't  mean  that  —  I "  — 

Dr.  Dix.  Ah,  I  see  you  have  some  wholesome  recol- 
lections of  the  past.  Well,  this  becoming  exhibition  of 
feeling  encourages  me  to  believe  that  our  Talks  have 
not  been  entirely  without  effect. 

Suppose  these  battles  had  been  fought,  even  if  But- 
ters would  have  been  justified  in  his  share,  —  which, 
mark,  I  do  not  necessarily  admit,  but  I  need  not  tell 
you  on  which  side  my  sympathies  would  have  been,  — 
what  would  j^ou  think  of  your  own  share  in  them  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.     I  —  I  take  back  what  I  said. 

Trumbull  Butters.  I  offered  to  fight  'em  more  than 
once,  big  as  they  are  ;  but  they  would  n't  fight,  —  they 
only  guyed  me  worse  than  ever. 


168  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Dr.  D'lx.  Evidently  our  Talk  on  that  subject  has  not 
converted  you. 

Trumhull  Butters  [d'isconsoIately~\.  You  told  us  that 
returning  good  for  evil  would  make  them  ashamed.  I 
honestly  tried  that  for  a  while  ;  but  it  did  n't  seem  to 
do  any  good.  Then  I  thought  I  would  try  the  other 
way. 

Dr.  Dix.  You  did  n't  try  long  enough.  It  did  more 
good  than  you  thought.  There 's  not  one  of  your  tor- 
mentors who  is  not  thorouglily  ashamed  at  this  moment, 
down  in  his  secret  heart.  I  challenge  one  of  them  to 
deny  it.     What  do  you  say,  Watson  ? 

Archibald  Watson.  I  never  saw  him  try  to  return 
much  "  good  for  evil."  He  was  always  talking  about 
fighting,  but  nobody  supposed  he  really  meant  it. 

Trumbull  Butters  [yalorously'].  They  would  have 
found  out  whether  I  meant  it  or  not  if  they  had  tried. 
\_Derisive  laughter,  which  the  Doctor  instantly  checks.'] 

Dr.  Dix.  I  suspect,  Butters,  that  your  attempt  to 
overcome  evil  with  good  was  rather  feeble  and  short. 
I  am  thankful,  however,  that  there  was  an  attempt.  I 
shall  never  cease  trying  so  long  as  there  'is  so  much 
fruit  as  this.  Come,  my  boy,  you  are  now  the  only  ob- 
stacle to  a  complete  reconciliation.  The  boys  have  al- 
ready advanced  a  long  way  to  meet  you ;  but  you  have 
not  as  yet  yielded  an  inch.  As  long  as  you  maintain 
this  hostile  and  implacable  attitude  you  cannot  expect 
them  to  advance  much  further. 

Trumbull  Butters.  I  am  willing  to  be  friends  if  they 
are. 

Dr.  Dix.  Then  we  '11  have  no  more  talk  about  fight- 
ing. I  say,  boys,  why  should  n't  your  victim  peach  ? 
Under  what  possible  moral  obligation  was  he  to  endure 
your  abuse  day  after  day  and  week  after  week  ?  Give 
him  credit  for  the  long  time  he  endured  it  before  he  did 
peach.  When  your  fathers  and  mothers  are  wronged, 
they  do  not  wait  until  they  can  endure  it  no  longer 


NAGGING.  169 

before  they  appeal  to  the  proper  authorities  for  protec- 
tion and  redress. 

Archibald  Watson.  They  would  n't  mind  a  little  nag- 
ging. 

Dr.  Dix.  In  the  first  place,  we  are  not  talking  about 
a  little  nagging ;  and  in  the  next,  grown-up  men  and. 
women  do  not  often  indulge  in  such  amusement,  —  their 
sense  of  honor  is  usually  developed  beyond  that  point. 
Of  course  you  understand  I  am  speaking  of  respectable 
men  and  women,  as  you  are  of  respectable  boys  and 
girls. 

I  will  leave  it  to  your  own  consciences  and  to  the  in- 
fluence of  our  past  Talks  to  decide  whether  the  joining 
of  twenty  against  one  —  with  the  knowledge  that  that 
one  could  not  defend  himself  by  his  own  unaided  power, 
and  with  the  belief  that  in  deference  to  the  boys'  code 
of  honor  he  would  not  inform  against  you  —  was  gener- 
ous or  mean,  manly  or  unmanly,  chivalrous  or  dastardly, 
brave  or  cowardly,  honorable  or  dishonorable. 

Now,  a  few  words  on  the  subject  of  nagging  in  gen- 
eral. When  there  is  fair  play,  and  when  it  is  not  carried 
to  the  extent  of  being  really  a  serious  annoyance,  it  is 
not  an  unmitigated  evil.  If  one  is  too  thin-skinned,  it 
may  be  an  excellent  remedy.  Socrates,  as  you  know, 
placed  a  very  high  value  upon  one  species  of  it  as  a 
means  of  discipline.  But  the  option  should  always  be 
allowed  the  subject  of  the  remedy  as  to  whether  it  shall 
be  applied  or  not.  If  he  is  sensible,  he  will  submit  to  it 
with  a  good  grace  and  return  the  favor  for  the  benefit 
of  his  physician,  who  should  submit  with  equally  good 
grace.  If  he  is  not  sensible  enough  to  do  this,  no  one 
has  the  moral  right  to  force  it  upon  him. 

Joking  at  other  people's  expense  is  often  very  funny, 
and  the  victims  are  often  as  much  amused  as  others. 
Sometimes,  however,  it  is  far  otherwise  ;  you  cannot 
always  tell  how  deep  the  wound  is  under  the  indifferent 
or  smiling  exterior.     If  this  kind  of  joking  becomes  a 


170  CHARACTER   BUILDING. 

habit,  like  all  other  habits  it  will  grow  until,  before  he  is 
aware,  the  joker  may  have  become  intolerable  to  all  his 
acquaintances.  Intimate  friends  among  boys,  and  girls 
too,  are  especially  liable  to  the  habit :  they  sometimes 
carry  it  to  such  an  excess  that  nearly  everything  they 
say  to  each  other  is  some  sort  of  disparaging  joke. 

All  this  may  be  very  entertaining  up  to  a  certain 
point,  but  gradually  the  little  stings,  which  at  first  only 
tickled  the  skin,  begin  to  reach  the  quick.  Never  let 
your  fun  go  as  far  as  this.  Watch  yourselves.  Re- 
member that  too  much  of  a  good  thing  is  often  worse 
than  none  of  it.  If  you  find  that  pretty  nearly  every- 
thing your  friend  does  or  says  suggests  to  you  some 
unpleasant  witticism  at  his  expense,  stop  short ;  forego 
for  a  while  those  stale,  vulgar  old  insinuations  in  regard 
to  his  miraculous  gastronomic  powers  or  the  superiority 
of  his  pedal  over  his  cerebral  development.  \_Laugli- 
ter.~\  Let  your  next  words  to  him  be  something  really 
agreeable  :  you  have  no  idea  how  refreshing  and  de- 
lightful you  will  both  find  the  change. 

On  the  other  hand,  don't  be  oversensitive.  Some 
persons  have  the  notion  that  extreme  sensitiveness  is 
an  indication  of  extreme  refinement.  It  is  more  often  a 
sign  of  extreme  selfishness  and  egotism.  It  is  only 
what  offends  themselves  that  excites  their  super-refined 
resentment ;  the  nerves  of  others  may  be  rasped  to  any 
extent  in  their  sight  and  hearing  without  disturbing 
them  very  seriously.  And,  above  all,  don't  be  that  par- 
ticularly unlovable  character  that  is  always  ready  to 
give  a  thrust,  but  never  ready  to  receive  one. 


XXXII. 
INDUSTRY,   WEALTH,  HAPPINESS. 

Dr.  Dix.  Among  the  habits  of  the  highest  impor- 
tance, from  its  effects  upon  health  of  body,  mind,  and 
heart,  upon  happiness  and  prosperity,  is  the  habit  of 
industry. 

Perfect  health  is  that  condition  in  which  all  the  func- 
tions of  body,  mind,  and  heart  are  in  harmonious  action, 
in  perfect  harmony  with  their  environments. 

Henry  Jones.  What  are  environments  and  func- 
tions ? 

Dr.  Dix.     Well? 

Helen  Mar.  Environments  are  surroundings :  all 
things  outside  of  us  with  which  we  have  anything  to 
do  are  our  environments.  Functions  are  offices  to  per- 
form, things  to  do.  For  instance,  the  function  of  the 
legs  is  to  walk  and  run  ;  that  of  the  eyes  is  to  see  ;  that 
of  the  brain  is  to  think. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes,  and  if  any  part  of  us  does  not  per- 
form its  proper  function  it  speedily  loses  its  health  and 
power.  If  the  legs  do  not  walk  or  run,  they  shrivel. 
Look  at  the  poor  cripple  who  rides  every  day  through 
the  streets  upon  his  "  velociman."  If  the  eyes  do  not 
exercise  their  power  of  sight,  they  eventually  lose  it. 

Activity,  then,  is  an  indispensable  condition  both  to 
health  and  happiness,  —  continued  and  regular  activity ; 
that  is,  industry. 

No  wish  is  more  often  felt  and  uttered  than  the  wish 
for  money  enough  to  live  without  labor.  Do  those  who 
so  often  feel  and  express  this  wish  know  what  it  really 
means  ?     It  means  for  most  people  a  wish  to  lose  the 


172  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

only  thing  which  forces  them  to  be  healthy  and  happy. 
That  lost,  all  that  would  remain  would  be  their  own 
sense  of  the  usefulness  of  effort  and  their  resolution  to 
continue  it  in  spite  of  its  irksomeness.  Do  they  know 
how  efficient  that  sense  and  that  resolution  Avould  be  ? 
Let  them  try  a  very  simple  experiment :  let  them  re- 
solve to  take  a  mile  walk  every  morning  simply  for  its 
healthfulness.  Hundreds  and  thousands  of  people  do 
cry  this  experiment,  but  I  will  venture  to  say  that  not 
one  in  a  hundred  continues  it  year  after  year.  It  works 
very  well  for  a  while,  but  gradually  it  gets  to  be  less 
interesting,  then  somewhat  of  a  bore,  then  most  decid- 
edly a  bore ;  then  a  morning  is  omitted  occasionally, 
then  every  alternate  morning  is  omitted,  —  then  the 
walk  is  taken  only  on  very  pleasant  mornings,  and 
finally  it  is  dropped  altogether  in  disgust.  Indolence 
with  its  present  ease  and  future  penalties  is  preferred 
to  industry  with  its  present  irksomeness  and  future  re- 
wards. So  the  muscles  are  allowed  to  grow  flabby,  and 
the  vitals  to  grow  sickly  and  feeble. 

Such  is  the  usual  end  of  labor  performed  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  benefiting  the  health.  But  suppose  the  mile 
walk  is  a  matter  of  necessity,  to  take  a  man  from  his 
home  to  his  office,  shop,  or  school.  Unless  it  increases 
the  tax  upon  his  powers  beyond  the  limit  of  health- 
fulness, —  which  is,  of  course,  possible,  —  who  but  the 
incorrigibly  lazy  man  ever  thinks  of  it  as  other  than  a 
pleasant  and  wholesome  variety  to  his  life  of  enforced 
effort  ? 

Joseph  Cracldhi.  The  loss  of  the  advantage  of  being 
obliged  to  work  for  a  living  may  be  a  great  loss,  but  I 
don't  believe  the  person  ever  lived  who  could  not  easily 
be  reconciled  to  it.  I  think  I  could  bear  it  myself  with- 
out repining. 

Br.  Dix.  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  Cracklin.  If  such  a 
misfortune  should  befall  me,  I  don't  think  I  should  be 
utterly  inconsolable.     But  neither  good  nor  bad  fortune 


INDUSTRY,    WEALTH,  HAPPINESS.  173 

is  to  be  measured  by  the  present  rejoicing  or  mourning 
it  occasions.  Children  often  cry  for  what  their  wiser 
parents  know  will  not  be  good  for  them.  The  wisest 
of  us  are  but  children  of  a  larger  growth,  and  it  is  well 
for  us  that  we  have  not  the  ordering  of  our  own  for- 
tunes. Both  you  and  I  might  bitterly  lament  at  a  later 
day  what  we  now  might  look  upon  as  the  best  of  'good 
fortune. 

Josejjh  Cracklln.  Nevertheless  I  should  be  perfectly 
willing  to  take  the  risk. 

Dr.  Dix.  You  may  have  the  opportunity.  There 's 
no  knowing.  And  it  might  not,  after  all,  prove  a  mis- 
fortune to  you.  All  would  depend  upon  your  character, 
—  the  stuff  you  are  made  of.  But  however  it  might  be 
in  your  individual  case,  with  the  majority  the  effect  is 
more  or  less  disastrous.  Let  us  suppose  a  by  no  means 
unusual  instance :  — 

One  of  the  millions  who  sigh  so  eagerly  for  that  great- 
est of  all  blessings,  a  fortune,  suddenly  falls  into  one. 
Ah,  now  he  is  going  to  be .  happy ;  no  more  grinding 
labor  for  him ;  he  is  now  going  to  live  a  life  of  elegant 
ease,  of  luxury,  of  "  style."  He  is  not  going  to  be  abso- 
lutely idle,  of  course,  —  he  understands  that  occupation 
of  some  sort  is  necessary  to  his  health ;  but  now  he  can 
choose  his  occupation,  —  he  is  no  longer  forced  to  toil 
at  his  former  uncongenial  employment ;  he  is  going  to 
improve  his  mind  and  his  taste,  —  perhaps,  now  and 
then,  he  may  even  do  some  sort  of  work  that  is  useful 
to  others. 

Well,  he  begins  his  new  life  with  great  enthusiasm. 
But  somehow  or  other  it  does  not  prove  just  what  he 
expected.  He  finds  that  improving  his  mind  and  taste  is 
not  so  agreeable  an  occupation  as  he  thought  it  was  going 
to  be :  there  is  hard  work  in  it  that  he  had  not  counted 
on.  He  still  finds  it  easier  to  read  a  cheap  novel  than 
a  good  one,  a  history,  an  essay,  or  a  poem.  He  meant  to 
study  music  and  art ;  but  his  wealth  does  not  diminish 


174  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

one  iota  the  irksomeness  of  the  laborious  beginnings. 
To  his  dismay,  he  finds  that  the  same  is  true  of  all  the 
best  things  he  looked  forward  to  with  such  delight- 
ful anticipations  ;  they  all  cost  hard  work.  The  mere 
consciousness  of  his  wealth,  at  first  a  delight  in  itself, 
soon  loses  the  charm  of  novelty,  and  with  it  its  power 
to  delight,  —  all  things  do  that,  scholars,  which  are  in 
themselves  unchanging,  and  which  demand  no  effort 
of  mind,  heart,  or  body ;  the  social  position  which  his 
wealth  gives  him,  that  at  least  to  which  he  aspires,  can 
be  maintained  only  by  the  cultivation  of  those  graces 
which  require  work,  work  as  hard  as  that  from  which 
his  wealth  delivered  him,  —  ay,  harder,  for  that  he  per- 
formed under  the  stimulus  of  necessity,  while  this  costs 
the  effort  of  resolution. 

Stronger  and  stronger  the  inclination  grows  upon  him 
to  do  that  which  is  agreeable  in  the  doing,  leaving  the 
consequences  to  take  care  of  themselves.  Why  should 
n't  he  follow  his  inclination?  What  is  there  to  pre- 
vent ?  Has  n't  he  money  enovigh  to  do  as  he  likes  ? 
And  so  it  is  the  story  of  the  mile  walk  over  again. 
His  muscles,  once  hard  and  strong,  become  flaccid  and 
shrunken ;  his  mind,  once  full  of  energy  and  vigorous 
interest  in  his  honest  labor,  becomes  vacant  and  list- 
less ;  the  days,  once  too  short  for  the  unappreciated 
happiness  that  filled  them,  become  long  and  tedious ; 
the  nights,  once  almost  unknown  to  his  consciousness, 
are  even  worse  than  the  days,  —  fortunate,  indeed,  is  he 
if  their  weariness  is  not  beguiled  with  the  vices  that 
lead  by  the  shortest  path  to  ruin  of  body  and  soul. 

The  bitter  "  Curse  of  Nature "  has  been  removed, 
but  a  bitterer  curse  has  taken  its  place ;  the  grievous 
burden  of  labor  has  been  lifted  from  his  shoulders,  but 
a  heavier  burden  has  fallen  thereon. 

Julia  Taylor.  But  the  bitterer  curse  and  the  heavier 
burden  do  not  always  follow  :  did  n't  you  say  it  depends 
on  the  character  of  the  individual  ? 


INDUSTRY,    WEALTH,  HAPPINESS.  175 

Dr,  Dlx.  Yes,  Miss  Taylor,  and  I  repeat  it.  I  have 
told  you  the  story  of  multitudes  who  have  been  lucky 
enough  to  come  into  a  fortune  through  no  effort  or  merit 
of  their  own. 

Charles  Fox.  Why  should  n't  the  same  results  fol- 
low, even  if  the  fortune  was  acquired  by  their  own  ef- 
forts ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Because  the  habits  of  industry  and  energy 
which  were  necessary  to  acquire  the  fortune  are  gener- 
ally too  firmly  fixed  to  be  easily  dropped. 

Charles  Fox.  But  the  necessity  to  labor  has  been  re- 
moved in  either  case. 

Dr.  Dix.  No.  To  one  who  has  acquired  through  his 
own  effort  there  is  an  ever-increasing  necessity  to  ac- 
quire more,  while  the  free  gifts  of  Fortune  are  usually 
large  enough  to  satisfy  the  ambition  undeveloped  by 
effort.  "  What  comes  easily  goes  easily."  The  only  use 
of  unearned  money  is  to  be  freely  spent. 

I  have  told  you  the  story  of  multitudes  who  have 
been  lucky  enough  to  come  into  a  fortune  through  no 
effort  or  merit  of  their  own.  It  is  not  the  story  of  all. 
To  some  strong,  noble  natures  suddenly-acquired  wealth 
proves  really  a  blessing,  and  not  a  curse,  but  it  is  not 
because  it  relieves  them  from  the  necessity  of  labor. 
Industrious  before,  they  are  now  still  more  industrious, 
if  possible,  and  in  a  broader  field.  They  are  not  obliged 
to  toil  for  their  daily  bread,  but  there  are  other  neces- 
sities which  to  them  are  more  urgent  than  hunger  or 
thirst.  There  is  a  hunger  of  the  mind  which  impels  to 
effort  the  day  laborer  knows  not  of ;  there  is  a  thirst 
of  the  soul  which  can  be  satisfied  only  by  a  life  of  pa- 
tient industry  in  the  cause  of  human  welfare. 


XXXIII. 

INDUSTRY,  WEALTH,  HAPPINESS,  CONTINUED. 

Helen  Sawyer.  It  does  n't  seem  to  me  that  the  neces- 
sity to  work  for  a  living  is  indispensable  to  either  health 
or  happiness,  notwithstanding  the  Talk  of  last  week. 

Dr.  Dix  \_sinilin(/'].  I  have  sometimes  complained 
that  you  young  people  do  not  generalize  enough.  Here 
is  an  instance  of  too  .wide  generalizing.  What  we  said 
last  week  of  the  majority,  Miss  Sawyer  evidently  un- 
derstood us  to  apply  to  all.  If  she  had  paid  a  little 
closer  attention,  or  if  she  had  remembered  more  accu- 
rately, she  would  not  have  ignored  the  important  excep- 
tions we  were  so  particular  to  make. 

Helen  Satvyer.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  there  are  a 
great  many  more  exceptions  than  were  mentioned,  I 
know  plenty  of  people  who,  I  am  sure,  never  earned  a 
dollar  in  their  lives  and  who  never  needed  to  earn 
a  dollar,  and  yet  they  are  healthy  and  happy  enough, 
so  far  as  I  can  see.  They  always  seem  to  have  enough 
to  do,  too  :  what  with  reading,  writing  letters,  travel- 
ling, yachting,  driving,  going  to  the  opera,  playing  ten- 
nis, visiting,  and  attending  parties,  their  time  seems  to 
be  pretty  well  occupied.  And  they  are  so  bright  and 
rosy,  too,  —  at  least  some  of  them,  —  so  full  of  life  and 
spirits.  I  don't  see  what  good  it  would  do  them  to  have 
to  work  for  a  living.  I  can't  help  thinking  it  would 
only  make  them  dull  and  stupid  ;  at  any  rate,  that  it 
would  take  a  good  deal  of  the  brightness  out  of  their 
lives. 

Dr.  Dix.  You  have  drawn  a  most  charming  picture, 
Miss  Sawyer.    It  seems  an  ungracious  task  to  paint  out 


INDUSTRY,   WEALTH,  HAPPINESS.  Ill 

any  of  those  brilliant  colors.  And  yet  if  the  picture 
is  to  be  true  to  life  I  fear  it  must  be  done.  I  must  be 
the  ogre  in  your  paradise. 

JosejjJi  Crackl'ui.     In  her  "  fool's  paradise." 

Helen  Sawyer  [^icith  spirW].  He  would  like  to  be 
one  of  the  fools,  all  the  same.  We  all  heard  him  say 
so.     \_Laughter.'\ 

Dr.  Dix.  Well,  if  you  two  have  finished  your  passage 
at  arms,  the  ogre  will  proceed  with  his  ungracious  task. 

If  the  experience  of  all  mankind  has  established  one 
principle  more  firmly  than  another,  it  is  that  a  life  de- 
voted solely  to  pleasure-seeking  is  the  one  most  likely 
to  fail  in  its  object.  Such  a  life  will  do  well  enough 
for  the  butterfly,  —  it  seems  to  be  what  it  is  made  for ; 
but  man  was  made  for  a  different  purpose,  a  purpose 
immeasurably  nobler  and  higher,  —  a  purpose  upon 
which  not  only  his  usefulness,  but  his  health  and  hap- 
piness depend.  He  is  endowed  with  faculties  and  en- 
ergies which  call  for  action,  as  his  stomach  calls  for 
food,  as  his  lungs  call  for  air.  If  they  are  denied  action 
they  will  starve.  Mere  pleasure  is  not  their  proper 
food  nor  their  proper  air ;  it  is  only  their  confectionery 
and  their  Avine.  Hence  a  life  devoted  to  pleasure  is  a 
life  of  mental  and  moral  starvation. 

All  that  Miss  Sawyer  and  the  rest  of  us  have  observed 
may  be  true',  so  far  as  external  seeming  goes.  Xature 
adapts  herself  wonderfully  to  circumstances.  She  will 
endure  the  violation  of  her  laws  for  years,  sometimes, 
without  apparent  penalty.  Throughout  the  years  of 
youth  she  is  particularly  forbearing.  But  the  penalty 
is  none  the  less  sure  because  it  is  delayed.  It  is  an 
infallible  law  that  no  pleasure  is  enduring  that  costs  no 
effort  of  mind  or  body. 

Helen  Satvyer.  But  some  of  the  pleasures  I  have 
mentioned  do  cost  effort,  and  plenty  of  it. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes,  I  was  coming  to  that.  I  was  about  to 
say  that  even  those  whose  sole  object  in  life  is  pleasure 


178  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

have  discovered  the  law,  and  hence  some  of  their  plea- 
sures call  into  vigorous  play  certain  powers  of  mind  and 
body  ;  in  certain  instances  they  even  cost  severe  and 
irksome  labor  in  preparation.  These  pleasures,  I  scarcely 
need  say,  are  the  longest-lived  of  all.  But  even  these 
fail  after  a  time,  because  their  object  is  not  high  and 
noble  enough  to  last. 

You  have  described  the  votaries  of  pleasure  as  they 
appear  to  you.  But  you  see  them  only,  perhaps,  while 
their  pleasures  are  yet  new,  before  they  have  lost  their 
charm.  Seek  them  out  a  few  years  later,  when  they 
have  withdrawn  from  the  society  that  no  longer  inter- 
ests them ;  when  the  wine  of  pleasure  has  lost  its  effer- 
vescence, and  their  jaded  appetites  find  no  substitutes 
for  the  sweetmeats  that  have  lost  their  taste.  Their 
powers,  unused  to  effort,  save  for  that  which  no  longer 
pleases,  refiise  to  be  aroused  by  less  stimulating  objects : 
they  cannot  read,  for  the  sensational  novel  is  to  them 
no  longer  sensational ;  they  cannot  work,  for  labor  is 
even  more  insupportable  than  ennui.  In  short,  they 
are  "  the  most  mournful  and  yet  the  most  contemptible 
wrecks  to  be  found  along  the  shores  of  life." 

Helen  Sawijer.  Oh,  Dr.  Dix,  what  a  terrible  ruin 
you  have  made  of  my  "  charming  picture "  !  And  is 
that  to  be  the  fate  of  all  those  delightful  people  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  I  truly  hope  that  it  may  be  the  fate  of  no 
one  of  them  !  I  truly  hope  that  the  mere  butterfly's 
life  may  satisfy  no  one  of  them  for  even  one  year  of 
their  bright,  vigorous  youth !  Their  travelling  and 
their  sailing,  their  opera-going  and  their  tennis-playing, 
and  all  the  rest  of  their  round  of  elegant  pleasures  are 
most  excellent  in  themselves,  —  would  that  every  human 
being  could  have  his  share  !  —  but  they  are  excellent 
only  as  diversions,  never  as  the  regular  business  of  life. 

To  those  who  are  not  destined  by  Fate  to  labor  for 
their  daily  bread,  let  me  say,  Do  not  be  disheartened. 
\JLaughter.'\     Bread  is  not  the  only  thing  worth  labor- 


INDUSTRY,    WEALTH,  HAPPINESS.  179 

ing  for.  Though  you  may  be  possessed  of  millions, 
there  are  yet  objects  enough  "in  life  to  call  forth  all 
your  powers  of  mind  and  body.  Nay,  it  is  in  your 
power  to  count  the  bounties  of  Fortune  among  your 
greatest  and  truest  blessings :  rightly  used,  almost 
nothing  else  will  so  broaden  your  held  of  noble  activi- 
ties. 

Archibald  Watson.  If  work  is  so  good  for  us,  I 
don't  see  why  it  was  made  so  disagreeable. 

Dr.  Dix.  Here  is  another  example  of  too  wide  gen- 
eralizing. What  is  true  of  some  work  to  some  workers 
you  have  no  right  to  predicate  of  all  work  to  all  work- 
ers. Aversion  to  labor  is  a  frequent  but  not  a  universal 
feeling ;  nor  is  it  normal  in  those  to  whom  Xature  has 
given  the  ability  to  labor.  The  beaver  shows  no  dislike 
for  his  laborious  task,  nor  the  ant,  nor  the  bee,  nor  the 
winged  nest-builders.  The  change  from  an  abnormal  to 
a  normal  condition  is  often  a  disagreeable  process,  as 
every  physician  knows.  Learning  to  like  labor  is  such 
a  process.  Strength  is  gained  only  by  overcoming  re- 
sistance :  if  we  had  not  always  had  gravity  to  overcome, 
none  of  us  would  have  the  strength  to  stand  erect 
against  it  to-day,  and  the  effort  to  do  so  would  have 
been  disagreeable.  There  is  no  greater  or  more  obsti- 
nate resistance  to  overcome  than  bur  own  indolence  : 
while  the  process  of  overcoming  it  continues,  all  kinds 
of  effort  are  disagreeable,  but  no  longer.  To  man  in  his 
normal  condition  work  in  proper  amount  is  no  more  dis- 
agreeable than  to  the  beaver  or  to  the  bee.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  finds  in  it  his  keenest  pleasure ;  a  pleasure, 
too,  that,  unlike  the  pleasures  of  passive  indulgence, 
never  loses  its  zest  while  the  ability  to  labor  lasts. 

Frederick  Fox.  That  may  be  true  of  some  kinds  of 
work.  I  can  understand  how  the  artist  and  the  writer, 
who  are  gaining  fresh  laurels  with  every  new  achieve 
ment,  or  the  merchant  and  the  manufacturer,  who  are 
continually  adding   to  their  Avealth,   may  enjoy   their 


180  CHARACTER  BUILDING.  '      . 

labor.  But  how  can  the  man  who  does  the  same  thing 
da,y  after  day  for  each  day's  bread  help  finding  his  toil 
disagreeable  ?  Do  you  suppose  anybody  ever  did  enjoy 
his  daily  promenade  in  the  treadmill  ? 

D?:  Dix.  Probably  not.  Certainly  not  when,  as  is 
too  often  true,  that  "  daily  promenade "  demands  all 
his  waking  hours.  But  those  are  not  the  conditions  of 
labor  brought  about  by  Nature's  beneficent  design.  We 
are  not  now  speaking  of  the  abuse  of  labor,  but  of  labor 
under  normal  conditions.  Under  such  conditions  its 
'humblest  form  might  be  a  pleasure  as  well  as  a  benefit 
to  the  laborer.  Why  should  not  the  artisan  feel  the 
same  pride  and  enthusiasm  that  his  more  aristocratic 
kinsman,  the  artist,  feels  in  making  his  work  the  very 
best  possible  ?  That  is  the  feeling  of  every  man  who 
enjoys  his  labor,  —  the  artistic  impulse.  The  stone- 
cutter, for  instance,  may  take  the  same  kind  of  interest 
in  making  his  rough  ashlar  true  and  smooth  that  the 
sculptor  takes  in  moulding  the  exquisite  features  of  his 
Venus  or  of  his  Apollo  :  the  difference  is  only  in  degree. 
I  am  not  so  disposed  as  many  are  to  ridicule  the  cus- 
tom of  certain  people  in  comparatively  humble  employ- 
ments to  call  themselves  "  artists."  If  the  ambitious 
title  will  only  stimulate  them  to  do  their  very  best  to 
raise  their  employments  to  the  dignity  of  arts,  so  much 
the  better  for  their  customers  as  well  as  for  themselves. 

Jonathan  Toiver.     Would  you  include  bootblacks  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Why  not  ?  There  is  a  wide  range  of  skill 
in  the  blacking  of  boots,  from  that  which  covers  them 
with  a  coarse,  fibrous,  lustreless  paste  to  that  which 
changes  them  to  polished  ebony.  I  tell  you,  I  have 
seen  an  artistic  zeal  and  pride  in  his  work  in  a  shabby, 
grimy  little  street  Arab  which  would  have  redeemed 
many  an  ambitious  canvas  from  ignoble  failure. 

Surely  this  class  of  laborers  are  far  more  entitled  to 
respect  and  sympathy  than  their  opposites.  I  sincerely 
hope  no  one  among  you  will  ever  look  down  upon  his 


INDUSTRY,    WEALTH,  HAPPINESS.  181 

business,  however  humble  it  may  be  in  general  estima- 
tion. If  what  you  do  is  of  real  service  and  benefit  to 
any  fellow-creature,  your  position  in  life  is  immeasura- 
bly above  that  of  the  mere  pleasure-seeker,  though  he 
live  in  a  palace  and  wear  a  crown  of  diamonds  upon  his 
brow. 

Yes,  the  pen  and  the  pencil,  the  hammer  and  the 
needle,  even  the  pick  and  the  spade  are  more  honorable 
in  human  hands  than  the  jewelled  fan  or  the  gracefully 
brandished  walking-stick.  If  justice  were  done,  the 
idler,  whatever  his  station,  would  doff  his  hat  to  the 
humblest  laborer.  "  He  has  the  right  to  live  in  a  world 
that  is  better  for  his  living  in  it,"  he  w^ould  reflect ;  "  he 
has  the  right  to  hold  up  his  head  in  the  proud  con- 
sciousness that  he  has  earned  the  coarse  bread  he  eats 
and  the  humble  clothes  he  wears.  But  what  of  me, 
whose  only  use  in  life  is  to  consume  what  he  and  his 
fellow-toilers  have  produced  ? "  And  the  reflection 
should  impel  him,  in  deference  to  his  own  self-respect, 
to  be  no  longer  a  mere  parasite  on  human  industry. 


XXXIV. 
VOCATION,  VACATION,  AND  AVOCATION. 

Helen  Mar.  It  seems  to  me,  Dr.  Dix,  that  there  is 
more  complaint  nowadays  against  too  much  than  against 
too  little  industry.  Americans,  in  particular,  are  said 
to  work  too  hard  rather  than  not  hard  enough. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes,  Miss  Mar,  there  is  wrong  and  ruin  in 
excess  as  well  as  in  deficiency.  "  Drive  neither  too 
high  nor  too  low,"  was  the  sun-god's  advice  to  Phaeton. 
*'  In  medio  tutissimus  ibis."  ^  It  is  not  enough  that  the 
engine  of  life  be  amply  supplied  with  steam  ;  there 
must  be  a  wise  engineer  in  the  cab  to  turn  it  on  and 
shut  it  off  as  occasion  requires.  Without  him  the  en- 
gine will  either  not  move  or  it  will  rush  on  to  its  own 
destruction.  Activity  is  indispensable  to  health  and 
happiness  ;  but  it  must  be  regulated  by  wisdom  and 
conscience.     Alternate  labor  and  rest  is  nature's  law. 

Jonathan  Tower.  How  shall  we  know  when  we  have 
done  work  enough  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  It  will  not  be  difficult  to  decide.  The  pen- 
alties of  overwork  are  as  plain  as  are  those  of  idleness. 
Nature  is  a  faithful  sentinel,  and  she  gives  her  warn- 
ings with  no  uncertain  sound.  The  loss  of  cheerful- 
ness, of  elasticity,  the  growing  sense  of  weariness  which 
the  night's  broken  slumbers  do  not  dispel,  are  unmis- 
takable warnings.  If  these  are  not  heeded,  others  will 
come  which  must  be  heeded ;  if  rest  is  not  taken  as  a 
sweet  reward,  it  will  be  enforced  as  a  bitter  punishment. 

It  is  not  long  now,  scholars,  before  vacation.  The 
old-fashioned  advice  w-as,  not  to  lay  aside  your  books. 
^  Thou  wilt  go  safest  iu  the  middle  course. 


VOCATION,    VACATION,  AND  AVOCATION.     183 

Teachers  and  scliool  trustees  are  wiser  now.  "  Lay 
them  aside,"  we  say,  "  and  don't  touch  them  again  till 
vacation  is  over." 

But  that  does  not  mean.  Spend  your  days  in  utter 
idleness.  Many  students  make  that  unhappy  mistake. 
They  congratulate  themselves  on  having  finished,  for  a 
time,  their  mental  toil,  and  promise  themselves  the  lux- 
ury of  complete  mental  rest.  They  soon  find,  however, 
that  rest  is  a  luxury  only  while  it  is  rest.  As  soon  as 
the  faculties  have  fully  recovered  from  their  weariness, 
if  new  and  vigorous  employments  do  not  take  the  place 
of  the  labors  of  school,  they  find  that  rest  degenerates 
into  that  ennui  which  I  have  already  described  as  the 
permanent  curse  of  the  habitual  idler.  Nay,  they  find 
it  even  more  insupportable  than  the  habitual  idler  finds 
it,  for  inaction  is  in  any  degree  tolerable  only  to  powers 
which  are  torpid  by  nature  or  by  habit. 

Jonathan  Toiver.  Then  how  shall  we  spend  our  va- 
cations ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Spend  them  in  si;ch  a  manner  as  to  give 
yourseh^es  the  maximum  of  rest,  health,  and  happiness, 
in  such  a  manner  as  best  to  fit  yourselves  for  the  faith- 
ful, vigorous  performance  of  the  next  year's  work. 
That  is  the  best  rule  I  can  give  you. 

Jonathan  Toiver.     But  how  shall  we  do  that  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  In  different  ways,  according  to  circum- 
stances, opportunities,  tastes,  and  dispositions.  There 
are  few  definite  rules  I  can  give  you  that  will  fit  all 
cases.  To  those  who  are  not  actual  invalids  the  only 
true  rest  is  a  change  rather  than  a  cessation  of  action. 
To  the  healthy  mind  and  body  there  is  no  harder  work 
than  continued  inaction.  Each  day  nntn.re  supplies  a 
certain  amount  of  nervous  energy,  which  demands  an 
outlet  in  some  direction.  If  it  does  not  find  that  outlet 
it  accumulates,  and  creates  a  growing  sense  of  uneasi- 
ness :  few  maladies  are  harder  to  bear  than  what  is 
known  as  the  Lazy  Man's  Dyspepsia. 


184  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

In  order  to  be  interesting  and  satisfying,  tlie  employ- 
ments  of  vacation  need  to  be  systematized  as  well  as 
those  of  vocation.  To  depend  upon  the  caprices  of  each 
day  for  each  day's  occupations  will  do  well  enough  for 
a  while  ;  but  soon  the  question,  Well,  what  shall  we  do 
to-day  ?  becomes  the  dreaded  bugbear  of  each  successive 
morning.  Plan  for  yourselves,  then,  some  sort  of  sys- 
tematic employment  that  shall  take  a  good  part  of  your 
vacation.  It  matters  little  what  it  is,  so  long  as  it  is 
honest,  harmless,  interesting,  and  as  unlike  your  regu- 
lar work  as  you  can  make  it.  This  last  condition  is 
especially  important ;  —  your  vacation  employment 
should  be  literally  an  a-vocation,  a  call  aivay  from  your 
vocation.  Your  daily  instalment  of  nervous  energy  will 
then  neither  call  into  action  those  brain-cells  or  those 
muscles  which  are  already  ^hausted,  nor  will  it  accu- 
mulate upon  and  congest  your  nerve  centres,  as  it  would 
do  in  complete  and  continued  idleness,  but  it  will  find  a 
safe  and  delightful  outlet  through  a  different  set  of 
brain-cells  or  a  different  set  of  muscles. 

Jonathan  Tower.  "What  avocations  would  you  re- 
commend for  us  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Oh,  there  is  a  long  list.  Some  of  them 
Miss  Sawyer  has  already  mentioned.  I  believe  she  be- 
gan with 

READING. 

To  a  student,  reading  as  an  avocation  should  be  on 
subjects  different  from  those  he  is  studying  at  school. 
Should  it,  therefore,  involve  no  study  ?  AVe  will  sup- 
pose its  sole  purpose  is  to  give  rest  and  pleasure  to  the 
tired  brain.  What  a  delightful  sound  there  is  to  that 
well-worn  phrase,  "  Summer  Reading  "  !  What  charm- 
ing pictures  it  calls  up  of  luxurious  hammocks  on 
breezy  piazzas,  or  of  shady  nooks  beside  mountain  xivu- 
lets  !  "  I  want  something  that  I  can  read  without  the 
least  effort,"  you  say  to  yourself  as  you  make  your  se- 


VOCATION,   VACATION,  AND  AVOCATION.  -  185 

lection,  ''  something  that  will  cany  me  along  by  its 
own  power."  And  so  you  gather  up  a  score,  more  or 
less,  of  the  freshest,  spiciest  novels,  and  nothing  else. 
Essays  you  abominate  ;  histories  you  eschew  utterly ; 
poems  are  a  little  better,  but  they  require  closer  atten- 
tion than  you  feel  like  giving  in  vacation  :  so  your  stock 
of  mental  pabulum  consists  entirely  of  literary  caramels 
and  comfits  and  bottles  of  literary  champagne,  with 
something  stronger  for  an  occasional  intellectual  ca- 
rouse. 

Xow,  the  natural  and  desired  effect  of  healthful  rest 
is  to  invigorate,  to  render  brain  and  body  better  fitted 
for  labor  ;  nay,  to  give  them  a  renewed  appetite  and 
relish  for  labor.  How  a  good  night's  sleep  sweetens 
that  which  the  night  before  was  a  dreary  task  !  Well, 
your  summer  vacation  is  over,  your  score,  more  or  less, 
of  novels  have  been  read,  and  you  resume  your  studies. 
How  much  do  you  find  your  mind  rested,  applying  the 
test  I  have  named  ?  how  much  keener  is  your  relish  for 
your  trigonometry  and  your  political  economy  than  it 
was  before  vacation  ? 

Helen  Sawyer.  I  have  done  almost  exactly  what  you 
have  described,  over  and  over  again,  and  I  don't  remem- 
ber that  my  school  studies  seemed  any  more  distasteful 
on  account  of  the  novels. 

Dr.  Dix.  Neither  you  nor  I  can  ever  know  how  they 
would  have  seemed  to  you,  if  you  had  not  done  exactly 
what  I  described,  "  over  and  over  again."  Most  pupils 
perform  duties  at  school  cheerfully  that  they  could  not 
be  induced  to  perform  anywhere  else  ;  the  stimulus  of 
competition  carries  many  through  studies  that  would 
otherwise  be  intolerably  distasteful.  Let  me  ask  you 
how  your  long  and  uninterrupted  courses  of  novel-read- 
ing have  affected  your  taste  for  other  kinds  of  reading  ? 
how  do  you  enjoy  an  elaborate  magazine  essay,  for  in- 
stance ?  how  do  you  like  McMaster's  United  States  or 
Macaulay's  England  ? 


186  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Helen  Saicyer.  To  be  candid,  I  never  read  such, 
tilings  :  I  have  history  enough  in  school,  and  magazine 
essaj^s  are  generally  altogether  beyond  my  feeble  com- 
prehension. 

Dr.  Dlx.  Oh,  no,  Miss  Sawyer,  not  beyond  your 
comprehension,  for  you  easily  comprehend  things  here 
in  school,  quite  as  difficult  and  abstruse  as  anything  in 
the  average  magazine  article  ;  what  you  meant  to  say  is, 
that  they  are  beyond  your  inclination. 

Now  I  am  not  going  to  make  an  uncompromising  at- 
tack upon  novel-reading.  If  I  should  condemn  it  ut- 
terly I  should  only  exhibit  myself  as  a  narrow-minded 
bigot.  So  long  as  the  novel  keeps  its  place,  —  the  good 
novel,  I  mean,  —  it  is  one  of  the  very  best  things  in 
life.  It  is  only  when  it  usurps  the  place  of  other  kinds 
of  reading  that  it  becomes  a  positive  evil.  But  I  think 
I  am  not  extravagant  when  I  say  that,  with  the  average 
mind,  its  inevitable  tendency  is  to  usurp  the  place  of 
all  other  kinds  of  reading.  Almost  every  librarian  will 
tell  you  that  the  majority  of  his  readers  take  scarcely 
anything  but  novels. 

Helen  Sawyer.  Well,  suppose  what  the  librarians 
say  is  true,  —  do  not  their  readers  find  in  their  novels 
much  truth,  much  valuable  instruction,  especially  in  re- 
gard to  human  life,  motives,  and  character  ?  Is  it  not 
the  novelist's  peculiar  province  to  —  to  unveil  the  hu- 
man mind  and  heart  ? 

Dr.  Dlx.  Yes,  that  is,  or  should  be,  the  novelist's 
highest  aim.  If  fiction  were  generally  studied  by  the 
reader  as  well  as  by  the  writer  with  this  object  in  view, 
it  would  justly  take  its  place  high  among  the  fine  arts. 
There  are  such  writers  and  such  readers.  All  honor  to 
them.  It  is  not  of  these  that  I  complain,  but  of  those 
whose  motives  are  by  no  means  so  high  or  noble. 

Love  of  narrative  is  a  natural  passion,  and  should  be 
gratified  to  a  reasonable  and  healthful  extent ;  but  it  is 
a  passion,  the  keenness  of  which  is  easily  blunted  by 


VOCATION,    VACATION,  AND  AVOCATION.     187 

over-gratification.  In  the  normal  condition  of  the  mind 
the  simplest  narrative  of  actual  events,  or  of  events 
which  might  easily  be  actual,  is  interesting  enough  to 
carry  the  reader  or  the  listener  along  without  effort  on 
his  part.  But  the  trouble  is,  that  neither  the  average 
writer  nor  the  average  reader  of  fiction  is  satisfied  with 
such  narratives  ;  so  the  passion  is  gratified  with  so 
highly  seasoned  material  that  it  no  longer  finds  pleasure 
in  the  simple  tales  of  nature  and  real  life.  The  jaded 
appetite  becomes  finally  too  feeble  to  tolerate  even  the 
fragments  of  essay  or  actual  history  which  are  thrown 
in  here  and  there  to  give  "  body  "  to  the  romance,  and 
they  are  impatiently  skipped  in  the  languid  desire  to 
see  "  how  the  story  is  coming  ou.t."  I  can  liken  the 
mind  in  this  pitiable  condition  only  to  a  stomach  which 
has  been  fed  so  long  on  confections,  spices,  and  worse 
stimulants  that  it  can  relish  only  the  strongest  of  these. 

Susan  Perkins.  Then  it  is  better  and  safer  to  avoid 
novels  altogether,  is  it  not  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  No,  indeed,  Miss  Perkins ;  everybody 
ought  to  read  some  fiction,  but  only  the  best.  Why, 
indeed,  should  any  but  the  best  ever  be  read  ?  There 
is  enough  for  all,  and  it  is  as  cheap  and  as  easily  ob- 
tained as  the  poorest.  Why  should  any  one  drink  of 
the  muddy,  stagnant  pool  when  the  clear,  sparkling 
spring  bubbles  just  beside  it  ? 

But  do  not  let  even  the  best  novels  get  the  mastery 
over  you.  The  moment  you  find  that  they  have  blunted 
the  keenness  of  your  relish  for  more  solid  reading  it  is 
time  for  your  "  vacation  "  in  reading  to  end  for  a  while. 


XXXV. 

CRUELTY  TO  ANIMALS. 

Dr.  Dix.     Eeferring  again  to  Miss  Sawyer's  list  — 

Helen  Sawyer.  Oh,  Dr.  Dix,  I  did  n't  intend  any- 
thing so  formidable  as  a  list.  If  I  had,  I  should  have 
given  it  in  alphabetical  order. 

Dr.  Dix.  Referring  again  to  Miss  Sawyer's  casual 
remark,  we  find  travelling  mentioned  among  the  favor- 
ite occupations  of  those  who  are  privileged  to  do  as 
they  please.  We  may  include  it  among  our  summer 
avocations  ;  but,  mark  you,  it  must  be  travelling  with  a 
definite  object  in  view,  not  in  the  listless,  fruitless  way 
in  which  many  travel.  You  might  as  well  dawdle  away 
your  time  and  sigh  with  mental  dyspepsia  at  home  as 
in  a  palace-car.  Miss  Sawyer  mentioned  yachting  :  that 
must  also  have  a  definite  object ;  observe  that  no  one 
enjoys  this  avocation  or  profits  by  it  more  than  the  man 
who  sails  the  yacht.  Tennis  was  another  amusement 
she  named,  to  which  we  will  add  cricket,  base-ball,  and 
all  similar  games  ;  but  you  must  set  about  them  with 
an  energetic  determination  to  excel,  or  they  will  afford 
you  little  of  either  pleasure  or  profit.  Among  still 
other  avocations  I  will  mention  the  collection  of  min- 
erals, plants,  and  —  and  — 

Tramhull  Butters.     I'ostage  stamps  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes,  though  this  is  better  suited  to  a  me- 
chanic or  a  farm  laborer  than  to  a  student.  He  needs 
something  that  will  give  him  more  physical  exercise 
and  out-of-door  air. 

Charles  Fox.     Birds'  eggs  and  insects  ? 

Dr.  Dix.     I  was  about  to  mention  these.     I  hesitated 


CRUELTY  TO  ANIMALS.  189 

for  a  moment  because  the  thought  of  them  suggested 
another  subject  of  which  I  wish  to  speak,  Cruelty  to 
Animals. 

In  the  collection  of  minerals  and  plants  there  is  noth- 
ing that  need  be  painful  to  the  most  tender  sensibility, 
though  I  heard  a  lady  once  say  she  never  pulled  a  beau- 
tiful flower  to  pieces  without  feeling  like  a  vandal. 
There  is  a  wide  difference  between  this  lady  and  the 
man  who  for  mere  sport  can  wantonly  destroy  the  most 
magnificent  animal  without  compunction.  Think  of  the 
heart  that  finds  one  of  its  keenest  enjoyments  in  the 
destruction  of  joyous,  beautiful  life !  It  has  been  ac- 
counted for,  and  it  can  be  accounted  for,  only  in  one 
way :  We  are  descended  from  a  race  of  cruel  savages, 
and  the  savagery  has  not  all  been  civilized  out  of  us. 

Joseph  Cracldhi.  Would  you,  then,  forbid  all  hunt- 
ing, trapping,  and  fishing  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  For  mere  sport,  yes  :  for  food  or  other 
legitimate  uses  that  may  be  made  of  the  poor  mangled 
victims  of  man's  superior  strength,  skill,  or  cunning,  or 
for  defence  against  their  depredations,  no. 

Joseph  Cracldln.  But  would  you  thus  not  greatly  re- 
strict one  of  the  best  means  men  have  of  cultivatinsr 
their  power,  skill,  and  manly  courage  and  hardihood  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  If  they  choose  they  can  find  plenty  of  other 
means  equally  good  of  cultivating  their  power  and  skill. 
It  takes  far  more  of  either  quality  to  study  successfully 
the  nature  and  habits  of  an  innocent  beast  or  bird,  to 
find  out  where  and  how  it  lives,  than  to  kill  it.  For 
my  own  part,  I  would  rather  hear  a  blackbird  or  a 
nightingale  sing  and  note  down  its  song  on  my  musical 
scale,  than  to  still  its  beautiful  voice  forever ;  to  watch 
it  as  it  preens  its  feathers,  than  to  ruffle  and  stain  them 
with  its  blood,  or  as  it  builds  its  nest,  than  to  leave  its 
tiny  architecture,  all  unfinished,  to  fall  into  ruin. 

As  to  "manly  courage  and  hardihood,"  it  takes  a 
"wonderful  amount,  truly,  to  make  war  upon  harmless 


190  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

creatures  whose  only  wish  or  effort  is  to  escape  !  Think 
of  a  band  of  stalwart  heroes  armed  with  guns  and 
mounted  upon  fleet  horses,  with  an  auxiliary  force  of 
bloodthirsty  hounds,  all  in  courageous  pursuit  of  one 
little  terror-stricken  fox  !  What  paeans  of  victory  should 
welcome  their  return  with  their  formidable  antagonist 
defeated  and  slain ! 

"See,  the  conquering  heroes  come  ! 
Sound  the  trumpet,  beat  the  drum !  " 

Joseph  Cracklin.  I  never  looked  at  it  in  that  light 
before  :  it  does  seem  rather  unfair  to  the  fox,  to  be 
sure. 

Dr.  Dix.  Unfair !  I  can  admire  the  heroes  of  a  lion 
or  of  a  tiger  hunt  as  enthusiastically  as  any  one,  but  I 
confess  I  cannot  sound  my  trumpet  nor  beat  my  drum 
very  loudly  in  honor  of  the  heroes  of  a  fox  hunt. 

Joseph  Cracklin.  But  they  don't  boast  of  their  cour- 
age in  attacking  and  killing  the  animal ;  they  think 
only  of  their  skill  in  the  chase  —  they  don't  think  of 
the  animal  at  all. 

Dr.  Dix.  You  mean,  they  don't  think  of  the  odds 
between  them  and  their  victim  ? 

Joseph  CracMin.     Yes,  Dr.  Dix  ;  that 's  what  I  mean. 

Dr.  Dix.  Because  it  is  only  an  animal,  and  because 
the  odds  is  so  enormous  that  it  eludes  thought  alto- 
gether. They  would  scorn  to  try  their  prowess  with 
an  inferior  human  antagonist,  and  the  greater  the  dis- 
parity the  greater  they  would  deem  their  cowardice  in 
such  a  trial.  If  we  see  a  great,  strong  man  abusing  a 
defenceless  child,  our  hearts  swell  with  indignation  and 
contempt ;  but  if  it  be  a  creature  a  thousand  times 
feebler  and  more  defenceless  than  the  child,  he  may 
abuse  it  or  kill  it  at  pleasure,  with  little  or  no  imputa- 
tion upon  his  manliness  or  chivalry. 

Henry  Phillips.  But,  Dr.  Dix,  it  is  simply  impossi- 
ble to  look  upon  human  beings  and  animals  in  the  same 
light. 


CRUELTY  TO  ANIMALS.  191 

Dr.  Dix.  I  admit  it.  I  admit  that  it  is  better  that 
an  animal  should  suffer  pain  and  death  rather  than  that 
a  human  being  should  suffer  pain.  I  go  still  further  : 
If  the  death  of  an  animal  can  really  benefit  a  human 
being,  it  is  right  that  the  animal  should  die.  I  do  not 
admit,  however,  that  it  is  right  to  take  harmless  lives, 
simply  to  gratify  a  cruel  love  of  sport,  or  to  gratify  a 
still  more  cruel  vanity  —  whether  it  be  to  adorn  a  lady's 
bonnet  or  an  Indian's  belt. 

Jane  Simpson.  Oh,  Dr.  Dix,  do  you  compare  the 
birds  on  a  lady's  bonnet  to  scalps  taken  by  a  savage  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  To  my  mind  there  are  striking  points  of 
resemblance  :  both  are  the  trophies  of  a  cruel  warfare, 
—  though  in  one  case  the  fighting  is  entirely  on  one 
side,  the  slaughter  entirely  on  the  other,  —  both  are  the 
ornaments  of  hideous  death. 

Jane  Simjjson.  Ugh  !  I  will  never  wear  a  bird  on 
my  bonnet  again. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  But  what  of  killing  birds  for  nat- 
ural history  collections  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  As  the  design  of  that  is  to  benefit  human 
beings  by  affording  them  better  opportunities  of  study- 
ing nature,  I  have  already  expressed  my  opinion  upon 
it.  For  the  same  reason,  you  remember,  I  began  by  ap- 
proving of  the  collection  of  birds'  eggs  and  insects. 
But  even  this  should  not  be  done  at  the  sacrifice  of  our 
humane  sensibilities.  Let  the  death  of  the  poor  mar- 
tyrs to  our  needs  and  conveniences  be  as  nearly  painless 
as  possible;  and,  above  all,  do  not  waste  the  lives  so 
precious  to  them.  Do  not  rob  the  nest  of  all  its  store  ; 
do  not  leave  the  tiny  mother's  tiny  home  utterly  des- 
olate. 

Archibald  Watson.  I  suppose  there 's  no  need  of 
being  careful  about  wasting  the  precious  lives  of  insects 
injurious  to  vegetation. 

Dr.  Dix.  That  topic  has  already  been  disposed  of, 
since  their  destruction  is  beneficial  to  man. 


192  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Lives  so  precious  to  them,  I  said.  Did  you  ever 
think  when  you  thoughtlessly  crushed  the  life  out  of 
some  harmless  little  creature,  that  you  had  in  an  in- 
stant destroyed  what  the  combined  skill  of  all  mankind 
could  not  restore  ?  that  you  had  wantonly  taken  away 
one  happy  being's  whole  share  in  the  universe  of  be- 
ing ?  Think  how  bountiful  Nature  has  been  to  you, 
and  how  niggardly  to  your  victim.  Could  you  not,  with 
your  thousands  of  herds,  have  left  it  its  one  ewe  lamb  ? 

If  it  is  cowardly  to  treat  an  inferior  with  cruelty,  why 
should  not  the  cowardice  be  estimated  in  proportion  to 
the  degree  of  the  inferiority  ?  You  say,  we  cannot  look 
upon  the  human  and  the  brute  creation  in  the  same 
light.  This,  in  general,  I  have  admitted.  But  pain  is 
pain  and  death  is  death,  whoever  or  whatever  suffers 
them.  The  man  or  the  boy  who  can  inflict  torture  upon 
a  dumb  animal  without  a  stirring  of  pity  in  his  heart 
is  not  likely  to  be  very  tender  of  any  suffering  but  his 
own. 

The  timidity  of  the  animal  creation  is  a  constant  re- 
proach to  man.  The  wild  deer  spies  him  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  scours  away  in  terror :  birds  that  alight  fear- 
lessly upon  the  broad  backs  of  the  buffalo  dart  away 
at  man's  approach,  while  their  shaggy  steeds  plunge 
headlong  over  the  precipice  in  their  mad  attempt  to 
escape. 

It  need  not  have  been  so.  It  is  pathetic  to  witness 
the  affection  with  which  creatures  so  often  maltreated 
return  kindness.  The  Arab's  steed  loves  his  master 
with  almost  the  love  of  a  child  for  its  father ;  the  dog's 
affection  for  his  master  is  entirely  unselfish ;  birds  can 
be  tamed  so  that  they  will  feed  from  your  hand. 

Louisa  Thompson.  Alexander  Selkirk  in  his  solitude 
laments  that  the  beasts  that  roam  over  the  plsiin 

"  Are  so  unacquainted  with  man, 
Their  tanieness  is  shocking  to  nie." 

Dr.  Dix.     And  shocking  it  should  be  to  any  humane 


CRUELTY  TO  ANIMALS.  193 

heart,  but  not  for  the  purely  selfish  reason  which  made 
it  so  to  him. 

It  is  Avell  for  us  that  there  is  no  race  on  earth  for 
whose  sole  benefit  we  ourselves  are  supposed  to  have 
been  created.  Who  knows  what  there  may  be  in  future 
ages  ?  Science  has  shown  that  we  have  been  evolved 
from  this  same  inferior  creation  that  we  sacrifice  so 
ruthlessly  to  our  needs  and  pleasures :  John  Fiske  to 
the  contrary  notwithstanding,  who  knows  positively 
that  there  may  not  be  evolved  from  us  an  angelic  race 
as  far  above  us  as  we  are  above  the  anthropoid  apes  — 
in  all  respects  save  the  sense  of  what  is  due  to  infe- 
riors ? 

Imagine  these  glorious  beings  hunting,  wounding, 
and  slaying  us  for  the  sake  of  angelic  "  sport,"  and  for 
the  sake  of  cultivating  their  strength,  skill,  and  angelic 
courage  and  hardihood !  Imagine  them  harnessing  us 
into  their  chariots ;  peeling  the  skin  from  our  tongues 
and  setting  our  teeth  into  agony  with  icy  bits ;  strap- 
ping our  heads  back  till  our  necks  ache  beyond  endur- 
ance, to  make  us  look  spirited ;  blinding  our  eyes  lest 
we  should  notice  things  by  the  way  too  curiously ;  and 
then,  perhaps,  driving  us  until  we  drop  dead  with  ex- 
haustion. Imagine  them  forgetting  us  in  our  cages  and 
letting  us  die  of  cruel  hunger  and  still  more  cruel  thirst, 
or  leaving  us  to  languish  in  unvisited  traps  and  snares  ; 
transporting  us  thousands  of  miles  so  closely  i^acked 
together  that  we  can  neither  stand,  sit,  nor  lie  without 
pain,  and  neglecting  to  give  us  food  or  drink  because  it 
would  take  too  much  time  and  trouble ;  destroying  our 
fair-haired  women  by  the  thousands  for  the  sake  of 
their  tresses  to  adorn  their  angelic  bonnets  withal ;  col- 
lecting us  for  natural  history  museums  and  biological 
lectures.  In  short,  imagine  them  inflicting  upon  us 
any  of  the  myriad  torments  we  so  thoughtlessly  and 
heartlessly  inflict  upon  the  unfortunate  inferiors  that 
Fate  has  thrown  upon  our  mercy.     Then,  in  fine,  sup- 


194  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

pose  we  should  hear  them  justify  their  cruelty  with  the 
plea  :  "  They  are  only  men,  and  it  is  impossible  to  look 
upon  men  and  angels  in  the  same  light ! 

Florence  Hill.  But  such  things  would  not  be  possible 
with  such  a  race  of  beings ;  they  would  be  as  superior 
to  men  in  kindness  to  their  inferiors  as  they  were  in  all 
other  respects. 

Dr.  Dix.  You  are  right,  Miss  Hill.  I  supposed  the 
exception  only  for  the  sake  of  helping  us  to  see  our- 
selves as  others  —  angels,  for  instance  —  might  see  us. 
Such  a  race  as  I  have  imagin'ed  may  never  exist  on  earth, 
but  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  Coming  Man  will  be  greatly 
superior  to  the  present  representatives  of  the  race  in 
kindness  of  heart  as  well  as  in  all  other  respects ;  and 
I  believe  that  he  will  look  back  upon  the  atrocities  of 
this  age,  those  inflicted  upon  animals  among  the  rest, 
as  we  look  back  upon  the  gladiatorial  shows  of  ancient 
Kome  or  the  torture  of  prisoners  in  ancient  Carthage. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  Dr.  Dix,  all  people  are  not  cruel 
to  animals.  There  are  some  who  seem  to  think  more 
of  them  than  they  do  of  human  beings.  I  have  seen 
ladies  take  better  care  of  a  snarling  little  puppy  than 
they  would  ever  think  of  taking  of  a  baby. 

Josei^h  Cracklin.  And  I  have  seen  girls  pet  a  kitten 
while  they  were  making  mouths  at  their  brothers. 

Helen  Saivi/er  [_prom2)thj'\.  That  is  because  kittens 
always  behave  so  much  better  than  brothers  do  !  \_Laugh- 
ter.'] 

JosejyJi  Cracklin.  While  sisters  are  always  such  pat- 
terns of  gentleness,  patience,  and  sweet  — 

Dr.  Dix.     The  time  to  close  our  discussion  has  come. 


XXXVI. 

CHARITY. 

Dr.  Dix.  In  our  last  Talk  we  spoke  of  our  duties  to 
tlie  lower  animals :  let  us  now  return  to  our  duties  to 
our  own  race.  We  may  dispose  of  Jenkins's  remark, 
that  some  people  think  more  of  animals  than  of  human 
beings,  with  the  reflection  that  such  sentiments  can 
awaken  only  pity  or  disgust  in  any  well-regulated  mind. 
What  should  be  our  feelings  and  conduct  towards  out 
fellow-men,  particularly  those  who  need  our  sympathy 
and  help,  will  be  our  subject  this  morning. 

I  said  awhile  ago  that  no  life  is  more  certain  to  fail 
in  its  object  than  that  one  which  is  devoted  to  selfish 
pleasure-seeking.  The  rule  extends  to  all  self-seeking 
of  whatever  kind.  The  purely  selfish  man  may  gain  all 
he  strives  for  :  wealth,  power,  learning,  fame,  idle  amuse- 
ment,—  all  save  the  one  thing  that  he  most  ardently 
desires,  and  to  which  all  the  rest  are  sought  as  merely 
stepping-stones  —  happiness. 

Now  how  shall  happiness  be  obtained  ?  It  has  been 
defined  as  that  condition  in  which  all  the  functions 
of  mind  and  body  are  in  perfectly  harmonious  action, 
—  perfect  harmony  with  their  environment.  It  is  not 
probable  that  such  a  condition  has  ever  yet  been  attained 
in  this  world,  but  the  nearest  approach  to  it  has  been 
where  to  a  healthy  body  and  mind  has  been  joined  a 
heart  so  filled  with  love  for  fellow-men  that  it  has  had 
little  or  no  thought  for  self.  For,  scholars.  Happiness 
comes  to  us  most  readily  Avhen  she  is  not  sought  for  her 
own  sake.  She  is  beautiful  and  sweet,  but  she  is  an 
arrant  coquette.  "  Pursue  her,"  says  an  old  proverb, 
''and  she  will  flee ;  avoid  her,  and  she  will  pursue." 


196  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

But  the  selfish  man  will  not  believe  this.  Day  by  day, 
and  year  by  year,  he  goes  on  straining  all  his  energies 
for  that  which  is  designed  to  benefit  only  himself  ;  and 
with  each  successive  triumph  comes  disappointment, 
astonishment,  that  the  happiness  he  so  fondly  expected 
does  not  follow.  He  concludes,  at  length,  that  what- 
ever satisfaction  there  is  in  life  comes  in  the  process  of 
acquiring  and  not  in  the  acquisition  itself,  and  so  —  he 
goes  on,  still  striving. 

But  he  makes  a  fatal  mistake.  There  is  a  satisfaction 
far  greater  than  that  of  the  mightiest  and  most  success- 
ful struggle  for  self,  —  a  satisfaction,  too,  which  does 
not  end  with  success,  but  goes  on  ever  increasing. 

It  would  be  well  for  him  if  the  three  spirits  that 
visited  Scrooge  on  that  famous  Christmas  night  would 
visit  him  also.  Then,  when  he  had  seen  how  much 
wretchedness  there  is  in  this  sad  world  that  he  might 
relieve,  how  many  bitter  tears  that  he  might  dry,  how 
many  heavy  hearts  that  he  might  cheer,  perhaps  he 
could  taste  the  happiness  which  all  his  years  of  labor 
and  of  triumph  cannot  bestow.  Instead  of  feeling  a 
dead  weight  of  discontent,  of  unsatisfied  longing  for  he 
knows  not  what,  forever  pressing  down  upon  his  heart, 
he  might  cry,  like  the  transformed  Scrooge,  laughing 
and  crying  in  the  same  breath,  — 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do  !  I  am  as  light  as  a  feather, 
I  am  as  happy  as  an  angel,  I  am  as  merry  as  a  school- 
boy, I  am  as  giddy  as  a  drunken  man.  A  merry  Christ- 
mas to  everybody !  A  happy  New  Year  to  all  the 
world !     Hallo,  here  !    Whoop  !     Hallo  ! " 

George  Williams.  Scrooge  was  a  rich  man  :  he  had 
it  in  his  power  to  do  all  those  benevolent  deeds.  But 
if  happiness  depends  on  that  sort  of  thing,  there  was  n't 
much  chance  for  the  poor  people  he  helped  ;  and  he 
could  n't  have  succeeded  in  making  them  really  happy, 
after  all,  however  comfortable  he  may  have  made  them. 

Dr.  Dix.     Ah,  Williams,  giving  money  is   not  the 


CHARITY.  197 

only  way  to  benefit  our  fellow-men.  A  kind  word,  a 
cheery  smile,  lias  many  times  lightened  a  sorrow-laden 
heart  as  money  could  not  have  lightened  it ;  and  none 
of  us  are  so  poor  that  we  cannot,  now  and  then,  give  a 
crust  of  bread,  a  cup  of  cold  water,  or  a  helping  hand 
to  those  in  need.  The  giving  of  money,  indeed,  often 
does  more  harm  than  good.  The  careless  rich,  who  sat= 
isfy  their  pride  and  their  consciences  by  the  indiscrimi- 
nate scattering  of  their  bounty,  are  responsible  for  most 
of  the  culpable  pauperism  in  the  world.  To  give  to  a 
lazy,  shiftless  man  is  only  to  defeat  the  beneficent  pur- 
pose of  Xature  and  Fortune,  which  is  to  force  him  by 
the  stern  discipline  of  necessity  to  use  the  energies  they 
have  given  him.  To  feed  his  laziness  and  shiftlessness 
is  little  better  than  to  give  strong  drink  to  the  drunkard 
or  laudanum  to  the  opium  slave.  The  only  help  which 
those  who  are  wise  and  really  sincere  in  their  benevo- 
lence will  vouchsafe  such  a  man  is  encouragement  and 
assistance  to  help  himself. 

This  is  the  best  work  of  the  great  charitable  organiza- 
tions which  do  so  much  to  distinguish  our  age  from  the 
cruel  past. 

Frederick  Fox.  I  have  heard  bitter  complaints  against 
charitable  organizations  :  that  a  great  deal  of  the  money 
given  them  is  spent  in  fat  salaries  to  officials  and  in 
useless  decoration  and  printing,  but  especially  that  there 
is  so  much  red  tape  about  their  operations  that  those 
who  are  actually  most  in  need  of  their  aid  do  not  know 
how  to  set  to  work  to  get  it,  and,  even  if  they  did  know, 
would  have  neither  the  time  nor  the  energy  to  go 
through  with  the  necessary  preliminaries. 

Dr.  Dix.  While  there  is  probably  some  foundation 
for  such  complaints,  you  must  bear  in  mind  that  there 
is  nothing  many  people  enjoy  so  much  as  fault-finding, 
and  generally  those  who  know  the  least  of  what  they 
are  talking  about  are  the  most  severe  in  their  criticism. 
Most  frequently,  I  suspect,  their   criticisms  are   pro- 


198  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

nounced  mejely  as  the  most  effective  way  of   saving 
their  own  money. 

I  have  taken  some  pains  to  inquire  into  the  methods 
of  several  of  the  best  knoAvn  charitable  associations,  and 
I  have  yet  to  find  an  official  overj)aid.  On  the  contrary, 
most  of  them  fill  their  offices  at  an  actual  personal  sac- 
rifice. I  have  found  no  useless  decoration,  and  as  to 
printing,  every  business  man  knows  how  essential  that 
is  to  the  efficiency  of  any  enterprise,  whether  charitable 
or  otherwise.  The  "  red  tape  "  you  speak  of  is  not  an 
unmitigated  evil.  I  do  not  think  there  is  generally  any 
more  than  is  necessary  to  prevent  imposture.  It  is  well, 
too,  that  help  should  not  be  obtained  too  easily,  so  long 
as  it  comes  in  time  to  those  in  actual  need. 

Florence  Hill.  But  how  many  thousands  there  are  in 
the  sorest  need,  to  whom  it  never  comes  ! 

Dr.  Dix.  Alas,  j^es.  If  those  who  are  so  liberal  with 
their  complaints  and  criticisms  would  be  but  half  as 
liberal  with  their  help,  they  would  find  far  less  to  com- 
plain of  and  criticise.  Scolding  is  not  the  best  way  to 
correct  abuses,  scholars. 

Let  me  now  make  a  practical  suggestion  to  you : 
Whether  you  ever  become  active  working  members  of 
such  associations  or  not,  at  least  inform  yourselves 
thoroughly  in  regard  to  their  methods  and  the  steps 
necessary  to  secure  their  aid,  so  that  when  a  case  of 
need  comes  to  your  knowledge  you  may  know  exactly 
what  to  do,  and  how  to  do  it  in  the  best  and  quickest 
way.  And,  let  me  add  by  the  way,  do  not  wait  for  such 
cases  to  \;ome  to  your  knoAvledge  accidentally.  Seek 
them  out.  None  of  you  will  be  too  busy  in  your  own 
behalf  or  in  that  of  those  dependent  upon  you  to  do  an 
occasional  act  of  kindness  of  this  sort.  Do  it,  not  for 
the  sure  reward  of  happiness  it  will  bring  you,  espe- 
cially on  your  last  day,  but  for  the  love  you  bear  youi 
suffering  brother  or  sister. 


XXXVII. 
WITH  HAND  AND  HEART. 

Dr.  Dix.  Do  your  kindnesses,  I  said  last  Wednesday, 
with  your  heart  as  well  as  with  your  hand.  This  morn- 
ing I  say,  Do  them  with  your  hand  as  well  as  with  your 
heart.  The  seed  that  germinates,  but  never  sends  its 
shoots  into  the  sunlight,  is  no  better  than  a  stone  ; 
the  plant  that  puts  forth  leaves,  but  neither  flower  nor 
fruit,  is  little  better. 

Jane  Simpson.  But  did  n't  you  say,  a  kind  word,  a 
cheery  smile,  often  do  more  good  than  more  substantial 
gifts  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  And  so  they  do.  They  are  the  flowers  of 
kindness,  and  flowers  are  sometimes  more  needed  than 
fruit.  Did  you  never  see  a  beautiful,  fresh  bouquet 
brighten  the  eyes  of  a  weary  invalid  as  the  choicest 
viands  would  not  have  brightened  them  ?  I  have,  and 
I  have  seen  a  ragged  child  in  the  city  laugh  with  de- 
light over  a  poor  little  nosegay,  who  would  have  pock- 
eted your  dime  with  scarcely  a  "  thank  ye,  sir." 

Lucy  Snoiv.    And  what  are  the  leaves  of  kindness  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Oh,  they  are  merely  Talks  about  kindness. 
All  that  we  say  here,  if  it  results  in  neither  a  kind  word 
and  a  cheery  smile  to  those  more  in  need  of  them  than 
of  the  helping  hand,  nor  in  both  the  kind  word  and  the 
helping  hand  to  those  in  need  of  both,  is  "  nothing  but 
leaves,  nothing  but  leaves." 

Helen  Mar.  And  the  germinating  seed  that  never 
reaches  the  sunlight  is,  I  suppose,  the  mere  thought  of 
kindness  in  the  heart  that  never  finds  expression  either 
in  words  or  deeds  ? 


200  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Dr.  Dix.  Precisely.  But  let  us  not  run  our  figure 
into  the  ground,  —  I  refer  to  the  figure,  not  the  seed. 
\_Lai(gliter.'\ 

Do  your  kindnesses  with  your  hand  as  well  as  with 
your  heart :  do  not  be  satisfied  with  unspoken  impulses, 
nor  yet  with  eloquent  panegyrics  on  the  beauty  and 
the  nobility  of  benevolence. 

Florence  Hill.  If  the  hand  does  not'obey  the  impulse 
of  the  heart,  is  there  not  good  reason  for  suspecting  the 
genuineness  of  the  impulse  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  There  is,  indeed.  A  great  deal  of  such  im- 
pulse that  is  taken  for  real  benevolence,  especially  by 
the  subject  himself,  is  but  the  flimsiest  kind  of  senti- 
mentalism.  Oh,  what  a  vast  amount  of  it  there  is  ! 
what  floods  of  tears  are  shed  over  the  romantic  sorrows 
of  fair  creatures  that  never  breathed,  by  readers  who 
can  hear  of  real  living  distress  without  a  tinge  of  pity ! 
what  Jieart-throbs  and  suppressed  sighs  over  the  pictur- 
esque woes  of  the  stage  heroine  in  her  velvet,  satin,  and 
jewels,; — heart-throbs  and  sighs  which  even  the  know- 
ledge that  the  persecuted  fair  one  gets  her  thousand 
dollars  a  night  cannot  mitigate ! 

Helen  Mar.  Such  grief  seems  absurd  enough  when 
we  think  of  it  coolly,  and  yet  I  can't  think  it  is  entirely 
heartless.  Only  those  whose  imaginations  are  vivid 
enough  to  make  the  scenes  read  and  witnessed  a  reality 
for  the  time  being,  can  feel  it.  To  them  the  suffering 
is  real  suffering,  so  the  pity  they  feel  and  the  tears  they 
shed  —  their  sighs  and  their  heart-throbs  —  are  genuine 
after  all. 

Dr.  Dix.  Don't  lay  too  much  stress  on  the  reality, 
IVIiss  Mar.  Reality  would  lead  genuine  feeling  to  some 
sort  of  action,  whereas  the  most  remote  notion  of  being 
anj'thing  more  than  a  passive  spectator,  whatever  out- 
rages are  perpetrated,  never  enters  the  most  lively  im- 
agination of  the  theatre-goer  or  the  novel-reader. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.     I  never  heard  of  but  one  man  to 


WITH  HAND  AND  HEART.  201 

whom  the  persecuted  stage  heroine  was  a  bona  fide 
reality. 

Dr.  Dix.  Well,  you  may  tell  us  about  hiin,  if  it  will 
not  take  too  long. 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  He  was  a  big-hearted,  chivalrous 
Irishman  who,  when  he  could  restrain  his  outraged 
feelings  no  longer,  stood  up  in  his  seat  in  the  gallery, 
shook  a  most  formidable  list,  and  shouted  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  "  Av  ye  don't  lave  her  alone,  ye  currly-headed, 
murtherin'  thafe  o'  the  wurruld,  I  '11  — "  But  before  he 
could  pronounce  the  "  murtherin'  thafe's  "  doom  he  was 
summarily  repressed. 

Dr.  Dix.     There  was  heart  and  hand,  surely. 

Archibald  Watson.     Or  rather,  heart  and^'s^. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes,  and,  I  remember,  I  made  a  distinction. 
No  one  could  doubt  the  genuineness  of  his  impulse. 
Whether  Jenkins's  story  is  true  or  not,  it  illustrates 
more  forcibly  than  anything  I  could  say  the  shallowness 
of  sentimental  emotions.  The  natural  outbreak  of  a 
heart  whose  warmth  and  strength,  unimpaired  by  artifi- 
cial excitement,  overmastered  its  owner's  judgment  and 
reason,  was  simply  ridiculous  to  his  fellow  spectators, 
who  neither  felt  nor  wished  to  feel  more  than  the  hol- 
low semblance  of  his  emotion. 

There  is  a  certain  amount  of  sentimentalism  in  nearly 
all  of  us.  Something  of  the  theatrical  or,  at  least,  of 
the  dramatic  is  needed  to  arouse  our  hearts  to  lively 
emotion.  We  read  in  our  morning  paper  of  a  great  rail- 
way disaster.  If  the  reporter  is  a  plain  statistician, 
without  imagination  or  power  of  word-picturing,  how 
many  of  us  feel  more  than  a  momentary  thrill  of  horror  ? 
how  many  feel  even  that  strongly  ?  But  let  the  story 
of  one  of  the  sufferers  be  skilfully  told,  and  we  lavish 
upon  him  the  sympathy  that  we  withhold  from  the 
many.  Nay,  let  the  story  of  suffering  that  we  know 
was  never  endured  be  told  with  sufficient  dramatic 
power,  and  it  will  arouse  emotions,  perhaps  tears,  that 


202  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

not   even  Waterloo   or   Gettysburg   lias   ever  brought 
to  us. 

Louisa  Thovijyson.  But  tbe  vivid  emotion  is  only 
momentary,  while  the  other  is  lasting. 

Dr.  JDix.     What  there  is  of  it. 

Louisa  Thompson.  Even  if  there  is  not  much  of  it, 
do  you  think  it  necessarily  implies  heartlessness  ?  We 
cannot  feel  until  we  realize.  The  reality  is  too  much 
for  us ;  we  cannot  feel  it  because  we  cannot  compre- 
hend it. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes,  all  that  is  true.  But  full  realization 
does  not  always  bring  the  emotions  that  are  due,  that 
would  arise  iu  a  heart  in  its  normal  condition.  I  have 
heard  the  most  eloquent  pity  poured  out  for  a  beggar- 
girl  in  a  painting  from  people  who  I  know  would  never 
notice  the  original. 

What  I  wish  to  impress  upon  you  is  that  mere  emo- 
tion, it  matters  not  how  vivid,  does  not  necessarily  imply 
real  goodness  of  heart,  nor  on  the  other  hand  does  the 
absence  of  vivid  emotion  imply  a  want  of  goodness  of 
heart.  We  see  this  principle  illustrated  every  day.  It  is 
not  real  distress  that  affects  people  of  shallow  emotional 
natures,  but  the  pathetic  manifestation  of  distress,  par- 
ticularly if  that  manifestation  is  graceful  and  pleasing, 
a  beautiful  sorrow  in  the  eye  or  a  mournful  music  in  the 
voice.  Literary,  dramatic,  or  musical  pathos  is  the  only 
pathos  that  will  move  them,  whether  in  fiction,  on  the 
stage,  or  in  real  life.  It  follows  that  there  must  be 
nothing  in  the  distress  too  disagreeable  to  witness,  — 
nothing  decidedly  repulsive  :  the  filth  and  squalor  so 
often  inseparable  from  it  are  utterly  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. 

In  short,  the  chief  concern  is  not  so  much  for  the 
sufferer  as  for  self. 

"  I  cannot  visit  the  homes  of  the  extremely  poor," 
says  one  of  these  tender  creatures  ;  "  my  sympathies 
are  too  strong,  —  and  as  to  hospitals,  how  any  one  with 


WITH  HAND  AND  HEART.  203 

a  heart  can  bear  to  enter  them,  I  cannot  understand." 
And  so  the  extremely  poor  might  suffer  on,  the  hospital 
patient  might  languish  uncheered  and  unnursed,  with- 
out disturbing  his  equanimity,  so  long  as  they  remained 
out  of  his  sight  and  hearing.  I  have  heard  a  man  boast, 
as  if  he  thought  it  was  really  creditable  to  his  good 
heart,  that  he  always  got  away  from  a  crowd  assembled 
around  an  object  in  the  street  as  quickly  as  possible,  for 
fear  it  might  be  somebody  killed  or  badly  hurt. 

Joseph  CnickVui.  Would  he  show  a  better  heart  if  he 
should  elbow  his  way  through  the  crowd  and  stand  like 
them  staring  at  the  man  that  was  killed  or  hurt,  just  out 
of  curiosity  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  That  there  are  lower  depths  of  cruelty  and 
selfishness  than  his  own  does  not  imply  that  he  is  not 
cruel  and  selfish.  There  are  still  lower  depths  than 
that  to  which  probably  any  one  in  that  crowd  has  sunk. 
People  have  lived  who  would  not  only  gaze  with  pleas- 
ure upon  suffering  and  death,  but  would,  if  permitted, 
help  them  along,  as  boys  throw  fuel  upon  a  bonfire. 
The  utmost  that  the  man  I  spoke  of  can  claim  is  neutral- 
ity to  the  suffering  of  others  and  tender  consideration 
of  his  own  sensitive  feelings.  He  can  claim  no  positive 
goodheartedness  until,  at  the  sacrifice  of  feeling,  he  has 
offered  his  help,  or  has  learned  that  no  help  is  needed. 

It  is  good  to  feel  the  heart  swell  with  tender  sym- 
pathy for  the  pain  of  others,  it  is  good  to  express  ten- 
der sympathy  in  well-chosen  and  effective  words,  but 
it  is  better  —  oh,  immensely  better  —  to  do  that  which 
will  help  to  relieve  that  pain. 

Do  your  kindnesses,  then,  with  hand  as  well  as  with 
heart.  Son,  do  not  merely  pity  your  anxious  father,  so 
sorely  beset  in  the  battle  of  life  :  stand  by  his  side 
when  he  needs  you  most,  and  fight  the  battle  with  him. 
Daughter,  when  your  sympathetic  heart  is  touched  by 
your  overburdened  mother's  pale  face  and  drooping  fig- 
are,  do  not  be  satisfied  with  embracing  her  and  pouring 


204  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

forth  a  wordy  flood  of  pity  and  affectionate  remon- 
strance, and  then  leaving  your  "  cold-hearted,"  undemon- 
strative sister  the  humdrum  task  of  actually  lightening 
your  poor  mother's  burden.  Take  hold  bravely  and 
help  her  with  your  own  fair  hands.  Never  mind  if  the 
strain  on  your. long  cherished  selfishness  and  love  of 
ease  is  a  little  severe  at  first,  persevere ;  it  will  do  you 
good  as  well  as  her  —  though  heaven  forbid  that  this 
should  be  your  prevailing  motive  —  and  you  will  find 
the  strain  grow  less  and  less,  until  what  was  at  first  an 
irksome  task  will  become  one  of  your  purest  pleasures. 


XXXVIII. 
POLITENESS. 

Dr.  Dix.  We  cannot  finish  our  Talks  on  Benevolence 
without  some  mention  of  Politeness,  which  may  be  de- 
fined as  Benevolence  in  Little  Things.  The  polite  man 
desires  that  everybody  arou.nd  him  should  be  at  ease, 
and  by  being  at  ease  himself,  he  does  what  he  can  to 
bring  about  that  result.  He  is  polished,  he  has  no 
rough  surfaces  to  rasp  those  with  whom  he  comes  in 
contact,  no  sharp  corners  nor  edges  to  push  into  or  cut 
into  them. 

Now,  as  a  rule,  we  find  the  greatest  development  of 
politeness,  or  at  least  polish,  where  people  are  most 
thickly  congregated  together  :  hence  our  words  urbane, 
from  the  Latin  tirbanus,  belonging  to  the  city ;  and 
civil,  from  civilis,  belonging  to  the  citizen  in  distinction 
from  the  savage,  although  it  by  no  means  follows  that 
every  resident  of  a  city  or  a  state  is  either  urbane  or  civil, 
polite  or  polished.  Some  persons  are  so  coarse-grained 
and  obstinate  in  their  natures  that  no  amount  of  attri- 
tion will  wear  them  smooth. 

There  is  an  illustration  of  the  process  that  polishes 
the  manners  of  men  which,  though  somewhat  hack- 
neyed, is  so  good  that  I  will  give  it :  — 

Stones  which  have  not  been  subjected  to  the  attrition 
of  one  another  or  of  water  retain  the  rough  surfaces 
and  sharp  corners  and  edges  which  they  had  when  they 
were  first  broken  from  the  earth's  crust.  But  go  down 
to  the  seashore  or  to  the  river-bed,  and  you  will  find 
that  the  continual  washing  of  the  waves  and  the  roll- 
ing of  the  stones  together  have  polished  their  rough 


206  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

surfaces  and  worn  off  their  sharp  corners  and  jagged 
edges. 

So  men  who  live  much  by  themselves  are  apt  to  be 
rude  and  unpolished,  to  have,  so  to  speak,  sharp  corners 
and  jagged  edges.  More  frequent  contact  with  their 
fellow-men  would  render  these  roughnesses  intolerable 
to  themselves  as  well  as  to  their  neighbors,  and  so  they 
would  be  of  necessity  worn  off.  The  country  farmer 
in  the  midst  of  his  wide  acres  has  plenty  of  room  to 
stick  out  his  elbows  as  far  as  he  pleases,  and  as  there 
are  so  few  to  be  offended  by  his  unpolished  speech  and 
his  indifference  to  personal  appearance,  he  may  indulge 
in  them  with  comparatively  little  inconvenience.  But 
imagine  a  crowded  city  in  which  such  were  the  prevail- 
ing speech,  manners  and  dress  !  what  a  chaos  of  rasping 
and  elbowing,  pulling  and  pushing,  mutual  anger  and 
disgust,  it  would  be  !  With  all  the  many  and  great  dis- 
advantages of  city  compared  with  country  life,  it  has, 
at  least,  one  great  advantage  :  it  enforces  mutual  for- 
bearance and  consideration. 

Susan  Perkins.  Do  you  mean  to  imply  that  city  peo- 
ple are  really  more  benevolent  than  country  people  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  By  no  manner  of  means,  Miss  Perkins.  I 
have  been  speaking  of  external  politeness,  or  polish,  to 
show  how  it  is  produced  and,  merely  superficial  as  it  is, 
how  essential  it  is  to  comfort  and  happiness  in  our  in- 
tercourse with  one  another. 

No,  real  benevolence  is  peculiar  to  neither  city  nor 
country.  The  roughest  exterior  may  cover  the  kindest 
and  noblest  heart,  while  the  most  polished  exterior  may 
hide  the  basest  and  most  selfish.  It  is  none  the  less 
true,  however,  that  the  noble  heart  would  be  all  the 
nobler  if  it  were  not  satisfied  Avith  benevolence  on  a 
large  scale,  but  condescended  to  little  kindnesses  also. 
Life  is,  after  all,  more  concerned  with  little  than  with 
great  things.  There  are  men  who  would  not  hesitate  to 
lay  down  their  lives  for  their  families,  who  never  think 


POLITENESS.  207 

of  the  little  courtesies  which  make  so  much  of  the  sun- 
shine of  life. 

There  are  children  who  in  their  hearts  love  and  ven- 
erate their  parents,  who  nevertheless  shamefully  neglect 
the  visible  and  audible  manifestation  of  their  love  and 
veneration.  Both  parents  and  children  should  know 
that  love  is  a  plant  that  needs  to  put  forth  leaves,  flow- 
ers, and  fruit,  lest,  hardy  as  it  is,  it  may  languish  and 
die. 

There  are  men,  too,  —  you  are  quite  as  likely  to  find 
them  on  the  farm  or  in  the  backwoods  as  in  the  most 
crowded  city,  —  "  Nature's  noblemen,"  who  are  always 
polite,  not  according  to  any  prescribed  code  of  eti- 
quette, but  from  the  unerring  instinct  of  native  refine- 
ment and  a  kind  and  noble  heart.  Theirs  is  the  only 
politeness  which  has  the  true  ring.  I  make  a  distinc- 
tion between  true  politeness  and  mere  external  polish  : 
the  one  is  solid  gold,  only  brightened  by  the  wear  of 
daily  life  like  the  gold  eagle  passed  from  hand  to  hand  ; 
the  other  is  but  gilding,  which  soon  wears  off  and 
shows  the  base,  corroded  metal  beneath. 

But  the  purest  gold  is  sometimes  hidden  under  a  sur- 
face of  base  metal ;  it  is  good,  indeed,  to  know  that 
the  gold  is  there,  and  that  it  will  come  out  when  emer- 
gency demands  it,  but  how  much  better  that  it  should 
always  gladden  the  eye !  Let  there  be  no  base  metal 
either  within  or  without. 

Granting,  then,  that  the  heart  is  good  and  true,  how 
shall  the  manners  be  polished  ?  I  have  spoken  of  men 
whose  unerring  instinct  makes  them  always  polite. 
But  goodness  of  heart  alone  is  not  enough  to  give  them 
this  unerring  instinct :  there  must  be  also  refinement 
and  good  taste. 

In  manners  as  well  as  in  morals  it  is  not  safe  for  men 
to  judge  the  standards  of  others  by  their  own.  What 
is  good  enough  for  them  is  not  necessarily  good  enough 
for  others.     A  half-blind  man  should  not  rely  upon  his 


208  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

own  perception  in  preparing  things  for  others  to  see. 
Untidy  and  ill-fitting  garments  may  not  offend  their 
wearers,  but  their  wearers  should  not  suppose,  there- 
fore, that  others  will  view  them  with  like  indifference. 
A  generous,  whole-souled  fellow  may  drum  with  grimy 
fingers  upon  his  plate,  or  use  his  knife  instead  of  his 
fork,  with  the  most  serene  complacency,  totally  obliv- 
ious of  the  fact  that  he  is  inflicting  a  sort  of  mild  tor- 
tu.re  upon  his  neighbors,  who  never  did  him  any  harm. 
This  is  neither  polite  nor  benevolent ;  it  is  not  doing  as 
he  would  be  done  by.  He  should  know  that  all  skins 
are  not  as  thick  as  his  own. 

Trumbull  Butters.  But  how  can  he  be  blamed  if  he 
does  n't  know  any  better  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  He  has  no  right  not  to  know  any  better ; 
he  has  no  right  to  be  guided  by  his  own  standard  of 
taste  and  comfort  where  the  taste  and  comfort  of  others 
are  concerned.  If  he  is  to  mingle  with  other  people  it 
is  his  duty  to  learn  their  requirements  in  manners  as 
well  as  in  morals.  In  fact,  as  I  have  already  plainly 
said,  good  manners  are  properly  included  in  good  mor- 
als. No  man  can  justly  be  a  law  unto  himself  in  respect 
to  either  :  he  must  abide  by  the  accepted  laws,  and  it  is 
a  recognized  principle  of  all  laAv  that  an  offender  cannot 
be  exculpated  on  the  plea  of  ignorance. 

L^icy  Snow.  I  confess  I  never  thought  of  the  rules 
of  etiquette  in  that  light  before. 

Dr.  Dix.  Is  it  not  the  right  light  ?  The  laws  of 
good  manners  are  as  truly  laws  as  are  those  of  the  civil 
government ;  the  rewards  of  obedience  and  the  penalties 
of  disobedience  are  as  assured. 

Now,  the  man  who  drums  with  grimy  fingers  on  his 
plate,  and  substitutes  his  knife  for  his  fork,  is  an  ex- 
treme case  of  ignorance  and  ^ailgarity.  He  and  others 
like  him  are  not  the  only  persons  who  are  satisfied  with 
too  low  a  standard  of  good  breeding.  The  girl  who 
shouts  from  the  school-room  window  to  a  comi^anion 


POLITENESS.  209 

across  the  street,  who  tears  her  French  exercise  into  tiny 
bits  and  showers  them  down  upon  the  floor  in  serene 
obliviousness  of  the  uneasiness  they  cause  her  more 
tidy  neighbors,  who  talks  commonplace  slang  at  home 
and  abroad,  apparently  indifferent  to,  but  secretly  proud 
of,  the  attention  she  is  attracting  from  total  strangers 

—  how  should  she  know  that  their  glances  betoken 
either  disgust  or  an  admiration  that  she  would  rather 
not  awaken  ?  —  who  is  affable  and  sweet  to  those  who 
care  little  for  her  and  for  whom  she  cares  as  little,  but 
is  cross  and  snappish  to  those  who  are  all  the  world  to 
her  and  to  whom  she  is  all  the  world,  —  this  girl,  most 
certainly,  has  too  low  a  standard.  She  may  have  a 
heart  of  gold,  but  it  is  so  deeply  buried  under  the  out- 
side coating  of  dross  that  it  is  difficult  to  believe  in  its 
existence,  until  some  crucial  test  comes  to  burn  away 
the  dross  and  reveal  the  gold  pure  and  shining. 

And  the  boy  who  swaggers  and  swears,  with  the  ab- 
surd notion  that  he  is  exciting  general  admiration  for 
his  spirit  and  dash,  instead  of  contempt  and  dislike 
from  all  except  those  on  or  below  his  own  low  plane ; 
who  complacently  sports  his  flashy  jewelry  (the  African 
savage  shows  precisely  the  same  complacency  in  his 
monstrous  adornments)  ;  who  makes  himself  obnoxious 
by  his  aggressive  conduct  in  the  public  tlioroughfares 
and  conveyances ;  who  treats  with  flippant  disrespect 
those  whose  superior  age,  wisdom,  and  worth  entitle 
them  to  his  profound  reverence  ;  who  is  unchivalrous 
to  the  other  sex,  especially  his  own  mother  and  sisters, 

—  this  boy  most  assuredly  has  too  low  a  standard,  both 
of  benevolence  and  of  good  breeding. 

Jonathan  Tower.  Is  n't  something  more  than  benev- 
olence, native  refinement,  and  good  taste  needed  to 
make  people  always  polite  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  I  said  that  one  Avho  has  these  qualifica- 
tions will  always  be  polite,  though  he  may  not  conform 
to  any  prescribed  code  of  etiquette. 


210  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Joseph  CrackUn.  That  does  n't  matter  much,  does 
it? 

Dr.  Dix.  The  education  that  one  acquires  in  culti- 
vated society  bears  the  same  relation  to  manners  that 
the  education  of  school  and  college  bears  to  intelligence 
and  learning.  One  can  be  self-taught  in  both  direc- 
tions ;  but  it  is  no  more  than  reasonable  to  suppose 
that  the  combined  judgment  and  good  taste  of  many 
learned  and  cultivated  people  are  superior  to  those  of 
one  person,  however  intelligent  and  refined  by  nature. 

It  is  the  habit  of  some  persons  to  speak  slightingly 
of  the  rules  of  etiquette  ;  but  they  are  generally  those 
who  know  little  of  them.  More  intimate  knowledge 
would  convince  them  that,  for  the  most  part,  these  rules 
are  founded  in  common  sense  and  pure  benevolence,  — 
that  they  are  the  very  best  that  can  be  devised  to  seciire 
the  highest  degree  of  ease,  comfort,  and  refined  pleasure 
in  social  intercourse. 


XXXIX. 

PROFANITY  AND  OBSCENITY. 

Dr.  Dlx.  Pyo,  before ; /rt7i ?<???,  a  temple.  So  the  old 
Romans  compounded  the  word  from  which  comes  our 
word  profane. 

We  picture  to  ourselves  a  low-browed,  villainous- 
looking  lout  standing  before  the  portico  of  a  noble 
edifice,  and  with  insulting  gestures  pouring  upon  it  a 
torrent  of  vulgar  abuse.  What  to  him  is  the  spotless 
purity  of  that  Pentelican  marble,  the  ineffable  grace  of 
those  fluted  columns  with  their  exquisitely  chiselled 
capitals  ?  What  to  him  is  that  realization  of  the  poet's 
loftiest  dream,  the  marble  imagery  of  the  pediment ;  or 
the  majestic  symmetry  of  the  whole  structure,  which 
seems  instinct  with  the  spirit  of  the  goddess  whose  su- 
perb figure  stands  within  ? 

He  sees  them  all,  —  the  columns,  the  smooth,  pure 
walls,  the  sculptured  gods  and  nymphs ;  but  they  in- 
spire no  noble  awe  or  tender  admiration  in  his  base- 
born  soul.  He  stands  there  like  a  dragon  befouling 
them  with  his  fetid  breath. 

It  matters  not  that  the  temple  he  profanes  is  the 
sanctuary  of  a  pagan  religion,  that  the  divinity  he  in- 
sults exists  only  in  the  imagination  of  a  deluded  people. 
It  is  enough  that  the  temple  is  a  sanctuary,  that  the 
divinity  is  to  many  far  nobler  souls  than  his  own  a 
cherished  reality,  that  to  many  other  noble  souls  who 
may  not  believe  in  the  religion  they  represent,  they  are, 
at  least,  the  expression  of  a  lofty  ideal  of  beauty,  power, 
and  majesty. 

Louisa  Thompson.     That  was  the  way  in  which  the 


212  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

most  intelligent  people  of  Greece  and  Rome  looked 
upon  their  divinities,  was  it  not  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  So  the  best  classical  authorities  assure  us. 
Now,  as  you  have  been  told  repeatedly,  this  is  not  the 
place  either  to  attack  or  to  defend  any  of  the  forms  and 
teachings  of  our  modern  religions  ;  but  it  is  both  my 
privilege  and  my  duty  to  impress  upon  you  the  solemn 
obligation  that  rests  upon  you  as  moral  beings,  bound 
to  do  unto  others  as  you  would  that  they  should  do 
unto  you,  to  treat  with  respect  and  veneration  all  that 
is  sacred  from  the  good  there  is  in  it  or  the  good  it  may 
cause,  whether  it  is  ancient  or  modern,  whether  it  is  in 
itself  a  demonstrated  reality  or  only  the  belief  of  good 
and  honest  hearts. 

Profanity  is  the  violation  of  this  most  solemn  obliga- 
tion, if  it  is  not  a  very  much  greater  crime.  Why  does 
a  man  insult  the  name  which  so  many  millions  of  good 
men  and  good  women  regard  as  the  most  sacred  of  all 
names  ?  If  he  believes  it  is  but  a  name,  he  can  have 
no  purpose  but  to  insult  those  who  believe  it  is  infi- 
nitely more  ;  otherwise  his  words  have  neither  point 
nor  significance  :  if  he  believes  as  they  do,  what  words 
can  measure  his  awful  wickedness  ? 

Archibald  JVatson.  Probably  no  one  who  swears 
realizes  what  he  is  doing. 

Dr.  Dlx.  I  aan  convinced  of  that.  Surely  no  one 
who  did  realize  it,  whatever  his  religious  belief  or  un- 
belief, would  be  guilty  of  an  offence,  which  of  all  of- 
fences offers  the  smallest  return.  The  profane  swearer 
has  been  aptly  described  as  the  only  gudgeon  among 
men  that  is  caught  with  an  absolutely  naked  hook. 
His  profanity  brings  him  neither  gold,  power,  nor 
glory.  What  does  it  bring  him,  boys  ?  what  does  any 
man  swear  for  ? 

Geoffrey  Jenkins.  He  thinks  it  sounds  bold  and 
reckless  ;  it  gives  him  an  air  of  jaunty  hardihood,  which 
he  and  others  like  him  particularly  admire. 


PROFANITY  AND  OBSCENITY.  213 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes  ;  it  sounds  bold,  and  reckless,  and 
hardy  ;  but,  as  we  have  said  in  a  very  different  connec- 
tion, "  words  are  cheap."  And  of  all  words,  none  are 
cheaper  in  a  certain  way  (though  they  are  dear  enough 
in  others)  than  the  generality  of  profane  oaths,  —  none 
more  absolutely  meaningless.  Every  one  knows  that 
the  dire  curses  which  fall  so  recklessly  from  the  habit- 
ual swearer's  lips  are  but  the  idlest  of  idle  breath.  He 
curses  with  equal  vigor  what  he  likes  and  what  he 
hates,  his  sonorous  profanity  is  applied  with  utter  im- 
partiality to  what  strikes  his  vulgar  mind  as  good  or 
bad,  beautiful  or  ugly,  honorable  or  mean.  As  to  its 
indicating  real  boldness  or  hardihood,  any  one  that 
would  be  terrified  by  such  senseless  babble,  however 
sonorous  and  blood-curdling  (if  it  really  meant  any- 
thing), must  be  timid  indeed  ! 

"  Shall  I  be  frighted  when  a  madman  stares  ?  " 

asks  Brutus  of  his  choleric  friend.  With  a  very  slight 
change,  the  question  might  be  asked  by  any  of  us. 

Shall  I  be  frighted  when  a  madman  swears  ? 

They  who  understand  human  nature  know  very  well 
that  the  loud-mouthed  blusterer,  whose  hot  oaths  pour 
forth  from  his  mouth  like  a  stream  of  molten  lava  from 
the  crater  of  a  volcano,  is  very  apt  to  be  perfectly 
harmless  as  a  fighting  man.  It  is  the  q^iiet  man,  whose 
conversation  is  Yea,  yea ;  nay,  nay,  that  is  to  be  guarded 
against  when  his  righteous  wrath  becomes  white-hot 
within  him. 

Joseph  Cracklin.  I  should  think  that  anything  that 
serves  as  an  escape  valve  for  "  white-hot  wrath  "  must 
be  a  good  thing,  even  if  it  is  profanity. 

Dr.  Dix.  Not  for  righteous  wrath,  which  is  the  kind 
I  mentioned.  No  escape  valve  is  wanted  for  that,  — 
there  is  altogether  too  little  of  it  in  the  world  to  cope 
with  the  evils  that  are  rampant. 


214  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Joseph  Cracklin.  But  what  if  the  wrath  is  not  right- 
eous ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Ah,  then  I  grant  you  that  even  the  pro- 
fanity of  a  bkistering  bully  may  be  the  less  of  two 
evils,  —  that  is,  supposing  his  profanity  serves  as  a 
substitute  for  anything  else,  which,  by  the  way,  is  not 
likely ;  he  is  probably  too  coAvardly  to  risk  anything 
but  terrible  words. 

Josejih  Cracklin.  But  there  are  others  besides  cow- 
ards and  bullies  who  swear. 

Dr.  Dix.  Undoubtedly ;  and  their  swearing  does  not 
prevent  other  forms  of  wickedness.  A  cool,  courageous 
villain  will  accomplish  his  villainy  —  and  swear  too. 
The  point  is,  that  it  is  not  his  swearing  that  shows  his 
courage  or  hardihood.  He  knows  this  as  well  as  others, 
and  he  knows,  too,  that  it  is  not  his  swearing  that  will 
test  the  courage  or  hardihood  of  others  ;  that  if  any 
one  fears  him  it  is  on  account  of  his  UgJdning,  not  his 
thunder. 

We  will  admit  that  so  far  as  sound  goes,  profanity  is 
bold,  reckless,  and  hardy  ;  but  towards  whom  or  what 
is  the  noisy  boldness,  recklessness,  and  hardihood 
shown  ?  If  the  speaker  believes  that  the  sacred  names 
he  blasphemes  stand  for  nothing,  wherein  does  his  bold- 
ness consist,  even  in  sound  ?  I  have  heard  it  said  that 
when  a  negro  child  in  the  South  wishes  to  be  particu- 
larly insulting  to  his  playmates  he  abuses  their  mothers. 
Is  it  in  a  similar  way  that  the  profane  swearer  desires 
to  show  his  manly  courage  by  insulting  what  multitudes 
of  good  people  hold  most  sacred  ?  If  he  believes  as 
they  do,  is  he  willing  to  accept  the  penalty  he  believes 
he  merits  ?  or  does  he  expect  to  escape  by  timely  re- 
pentance, and  is  that  his  notion  of  courage  and  honor  ? 
Would  he  utter  his  blasphemies  if  he  believed  that 
merited  punishment  would  follow  instantly  upon  the 
offence  ? 

Jonathan  Tower.     But  a  man  does  n't  always  swear 


PROFANITY  AND  OBSCENITY.  215 

because  he  is  angry,  —  he  does  it  sometimes  simply  to 
be  emphatic  and  forcible,  or  witty. 

Dr.  Die.  Yes,  I  have  already  credited  him  with 
perfect  impartiality  in  the  bestowal  of  his  epithets. 
Things  are  profanely  good  and  profanely  bad,  profanely 
great  and  profanely  small,  profanely  sad  and  profanely 
funny,  and  so  on  throughout  the  list.  I  will  make  the 
same  remark  about  him  that  1  made  about  the  drunk- 
ard :  his  force,  emphasis,  or  wit  is  of  a  very  cheap  or- 
der. The  really  eloquent  and  witty  man  is  dependent 
upon  neither  alcohol  nor  profanity  for  his  eloquence 
and  wit ;  he  shows  the  genuineness  and  power  of  his 
gifts  by  doing  without  such  aids  :  nothing  shows  essen- 
tial poverty  of  mind  and  character  like  a  reliance  upon 
either. 

But  besides  being  insulting  to  good  men  and  to  the 
Being  whom  so  many  good  men  believe  in  and  worshij), 
the  profane  man  is  unutterably  \ailgar.  I  return  to  my 
picture  of  the  clown  before  the  beautiful,  noble  temple, 
—  he  is  like  a  dragon  befouling  it  with  his  fetid  breath. 
In  fact,  profanity  is  very  often  and  very  properly  men- 
tioned with,  as  it  is  usually  accompanied  by,  another 
still  grosser  form  of  vulgarity,  of  which  I  shall  now 
speak. 

Virgil  has  typified  obscenity  in  his  Harpies,  those 
''obscene  birds"  than  which  "  no  more  revolting  hor- 
ror has  come  forth  from  the  Stygian  waves."  While 
.^neas  and  his  companions  are  feasting  in  the  Stroph- 
ades,  the  disgusting  creatures  swoop  down  upon  their 
banquet  from  the  adjacent  mountains,  with  hoarse,  dis- 
cordant croakings,  flapping  their  great  wings  and  emit- 
ting an  offensive  odor,  and  what  they  do  not  devour  of 
the  feast  they  defile  with  their  horrible  filth. 

The  Harpies  are  not  yet  extinct.  Their  foul  contact 
still  pollutes  many  a  choice  banquet ;  their  trail  is  over 
many  a  fair  fruit  and  beautiful  flower. 

Obscenity    is    filth,  —  uncompromising,   unmitigated 


216  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

filth.  And,  like  all  other  forms  of  corruption,  it  is 
found  in  the  greatest  abundance  at  the  lowest  levels. 
It  is  not  usually  the  mountain  top  or  the  wind-swept 
plain  that  calls  loudly  for  the  cleansing  besom,  but  the 
deep  gutter  and  the  rotting  swamp.  So  it  is  among  the 
lowest  classes  of  men  that  both  obscenity  and  profanity 
run  their  wildest  riot.  Savage  races  are  almost  invari- 
ably indescribably  nasty  in  thought  and  word  as  well 
as  in  person  and  habits  of  life,  while  among  civilized 
nations  it  is  most  often  in  the  slums  that  the  house- 
hold words  include  the  foulest  in  the  language. 

But  corruption  does  not  confine  itself  to  the  lowest 
levels.  Its  miasma  rises  and  spreads,  with  greater  or 
less  attenuation,  to  all  heights  and  distances.  It  enters 
the  open  windows  and  doors  of  palace  and  cottage.  It 
is  breathed  alike  by  the  strongest  and  by  the  most  deli- 
cate lungs.  So  the  foul  word  may  fall  ujDon  the  most 
jealously  guarded  ears. 

But  it  is  not  always  in  the  gutter  or  in  the  swamp  that 
the  poison  has  its  origin :  the  palace  and  the  cottage 
may  breed  their  own  foul  germs.  So  moral  filth  may 
gather  in  the  millionaire's  home,  the  impure  thought 
may  spring  in  the  most  delicately  nurtured  mind,  and 
the  foul  word  may  soil  the  daintiest  lips. 

What  an  incongruous  combination,  scholars  !  a  refine- 
ment that  cannot  brook  a  speck  of  physical  dirt,  but  can 
tolerate,  even  enjoy  perhaps,  moral  nastiness  !  a  fastidi- 
ous taste  that  is  disgusted  by  the  sight  of  a  soiled  glove, 
but  cherishes  the  foul  thought,  and  listens  to  and  utters 
the  foul  word  without  wincing  ! 

How  can  any  one  pretend  to  refinement  or  good  taste 
who  relishes  dirt  of  any  kind,  on  the  outside  of  the 
platter  or  within  ?  And  if  there  must  be  dirt  in  either 
place,  is  it  not  better  that  it  should  be  on  the  outside  ? 
Ah,  yes ;  far  better  soiled  hands,  the  sooty  face,  and 
the  dusty  blouse  without  than  the  impure  mind  within. 

Would  you  keep  clean  from  this  kind  of  filth  ?   Keep 


PROFANITY  AND  OBSCENITY.  217 

the  windows  and  doors  of  your  mind  closed  against  it; 
keep  the  hearthstones  within  clean-swept,  lest  it  gather 
from  within.  Tolerate  no  evil  companion,  book,  or  pic- 
ture. 

It  is  not  that  which  is  external,  but  that  which  is  in- 
ternal, that  defileth  the  man.  The  microbes  of  disease 
and  death  are  well-nigh  omnipresent ;  they  infest  the 
air  we  breathe,  the  water  we  drink,  and  the  food  we  eat. 
But  persons  whose  physical  systems  are  in  a  state  of 
vigorous  health  are  rarely  subject  to  their  deadly  inva- 
sion ;  it  is  those  whose  vitality  is  already  impaired  that 
fall  easy  victims.  So,  if  our  hearts  and  minds  are  in 
vigorous  health,  and  especially  if  our  thoughts  are  fully 
occupied  with  good  honest  work  and  pleasure  of  one 
kind  and  another,  the  microbes  of  disease  and  death 
that  infest  the  moral  atmosphere  will  not  find  easy 
lodgment  therein. 

"  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart" 


XL. 
WHAT  HAS  ALGEBRA  TO  DO  WITH  VIRTUE? 

Dr.  Dix.  We  will  now  disciass  a  subject  which  we 
promised  to  consider  a  long  time  ago. 

You  are  accustomed  to  hear  education  coupled  with 
morality,  ignorance  with  immorality.  The  common- 
school  system  of  America  is  looked  upon  as  a  greater 
preventive  of  crime  than  all  her  court-houses  and  pris- 
ons. Yet  among  the  list  of  regular  studies  prescribed 
for  schools  there  is  rarely  one  which  has  a  direct  bear- 
ing upon  personal  morality.  In  introducing  this  series 
of  Talks  as  a  regularly  appointed  exercise,  we  have  made 
an  abrupt  departure  from  long  established  custom. 
True,  it  is  required  and  expected  that  instructors  shall 
always  exert  a  good  moral  influence  over  their  pupils, 
that  they  shall  use  their  best  endeavors  to  make  of 
them  good  citizens  and  true,  noble  men  and  women, 
but  there  is  usually  no  special  time  set  apart  for  this 
most  important  of  all  objects.  On  the  contrary,  the 
hours  of  school  are  so  completely  appropriated  to  purely 
intellectual  work,  that,  unless  some  arrangement  is 
made  like  that  which  we  have  adopted,  whatever  time 
is  taken  for  moral  instruction  must  in  a  certain  sense 
be  stolen  or,  to  put  it  more  gently,  must  be  taken  "  un- 
der a  suspension  of  the  rules." 

^Nevertheless,  the  desired  result  is  in  a  great  measure 
accomplished,  —  not  so  completely  as  could  be  wished, 
of  course,  or  as  we  hope  it  will  be  accomplished  under 
improved  conditions,  but  yet  so  completely  that,  as  I 
said  in  the  outset,  you  are  accustomed  to  hear  education 
coupled  with  morality,  and  ignorance  with  immorality. 


WHAT  HAS  ALGEBRA  TO  DO  WITH  VIRTUE?    219 

This  being  the  case,  it  follows  that  intellectual  work 
has  a  direct  salutary  effect  upon  the  moral  nature.  It 
is  difficult,  at  first  thought,  to  understand  what  relation 
there  can  be  between  the  two.  How,  for  example,  can 
the  pure  mathematics,  which  of  all  the  subjects  engag- 
ing the  thoughts  of  men  seems  to  have  the  least  relation 
with  either  virtue  or  vice,  make  them  more  honest,  kind, 
temperate,  or  patriotic  ? 

George  Williams.  I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  talk 
about  this  subject.  Dr.  Dix.  I  have  often  wondered, 
when  I  have  heard  so  much  about  school  making  people 
good,  what  algebra  had  to  do  with  virtue. 

Dr.  Dix.  I  cannot  promise  to  answer  the  question 
to  your  satisfaction.  There  are  a  great  many  facts  in 
nature  which  we  can  only  accept  as  facts :  our  attempts 
to  explain  them  go  but  a  very  little  Avay.  Whi/  one 
plant  bears  grapes  and  another  thistles,  no  man  can 
explain  ;  he  can  only  know  that  such  is  the  fact.  Now, 
we  know  that  intellectual  culture  is  a  tree  that  gener- 
ally bears  good  fruit ;  the  experience  of  all  ages  and 
all  pountries  has  established  this  beyond  question ;  and 
though  we  may  not  be  able  to  explain  it  in  full,  we  can 
present  some  considerations  which  may  throw  a  little 
light  upon  it.  We  have  already  incidentally  mentioned 
two  of  these  considerations,  which  I  will  ask  you  to 
review. 

Frederick  Fox.  One  effect  of  intellectual  training  is 
to  inspire  a  love  of  truth  and  a  contempt  for  error.  It 
is  only  the  untrained  mind  that  is  satisfied  with  half- 
truths,  slovenly  conclusions,  unproved  propositions. 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes  ;  and  it  seems  natural  that  the  mind 
that  is  in  the  habit  of  insisting  upon  the  strict  truth,  or 
the  nearest  possible  approximation  to  it,  in  matters  of 
science,  history,  or  mathematics  should,  at  least,  be 
strongly  predisposed  in  favor  of  the  strict  truth  in  all 
other  matters.     Go  on. 

Isabelle  Anthony.     In  one  of  the  Talks  on  truthful- 


220  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

ness  you  remarked  that  the  person  who  is  thoroughly 
absorbed  in  his  algebra  or  in  his  Greek  cannot  at  the 
same  time  be  engaged  in  blackening  his  neighbor's 
character. 

Dr.  Dix.  Or  in  any  other  kind  of  mischief.  Every 
one  will  admit  that,  if  there  were  no  other  good  result 
of  intellectual  occupation,  this  would  be  enough  to 
establish  its  moral  usefulness. 

Geoy^ge  WllUams.  May  not  the  same  thing  be  said  of 
any  kind  of  useful  occupation,  whether  intellectual  or 
physical  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Yes,  with  modifications.  It  is  generally 
true  that  those  who  are  usefully  occupied  in  any  way 
are  not  engaged  in  mischief  at  the  same  time,  —  not 
actively  engaged,  at  any  rate,  although  it  does  not 
necessarily  follow  that  the  mind  and  the  hands  are 
always  occupied  with  the  same  thing.  While  the  hands 
are  busy  with  good,  honest  work  the  heart  may  be  as 
busy  in  nourishing  hatred,  revenge,  envy,  pride,  or  dis- 
content ;  and  the  brain  may  be  equally  busy  in  devising 
schemes  for  gratifying  the  bad  passions  of  the  heart. 

George  Williams.  Is  not  that  being  "actively  en- 
gaged in  mischief  "  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Not  in  the  commonly  accepted  sense  of  the 
phrase.  That  demands  the  actual  execution  of  the  evil 
designs  of  the  mind  and  heart,  which,  so  long  as  the 
hands  are  usefully  occupied,  is  not  usually  easy. 

Florence  Hill.  The  useful  employment  of  the  hands 
may  not  prevent  the  tongue  from  doing  mischief  at  the 
same  time. 

Dr.  Dix.  Very  true,  Miss  Hill.  Most  employers 
will  tell  you,  however,  that  an  active  tongue  is  not  often 
found  associated  with  very  busy  hands.  Neither,  in- 
deed, for  that  matter,  are  a  mind  and  heart  which  are 
not  fixed  on  the  work  of  the  hands.  Even  in  the  most 
mechanical  employments  the  hands  will  sometimes  lapse 
into  idleness,  that  the  thoughts  may  have  freer  play. 


WHAT  HAS  ALGEBRA  TO  DO  WITH  VIRTUE?    221 

Helen  Mar.  Dr.  Dix,  you  never  attended  a  ladies' 
sewing  circle,  if  you  think  that  the  tongue  and  hands 
cannot  be  busy  at  the  same  time.     \_Laughter.'] 

Dr.  Dix  \smiling'].  No,  Miss  Mar.  I  confess  I  have 
never  had  that  pleasure.  I  am  speaking  from  my  own 
limited  experience.  AYith  a  more  extended  experience, 
I  should  undoubtedly  modify  some  of  my  opinions.  But 
let  us  go  on  :  — 

It  is  evident  that  the  only  time  we  are  absolutely 
secure  from  all  temptation  to  evil  is  when  the  thoughts 
are  completely  absorbed  in  some  good  and  useful,  or  at 
least  harmless  occupation.  It  is  also  evident  that  the 
mere  employment  of  the  hands  is  not  enough :  the 
homely  old  lines,  — 

"  For  Satan  finds  some  miscliief  still 
For  idle  hands  to  do," 

should  be  understood  to  include  idle  brains  and  hearts 
as  well. 

Now,  it  would  be  absurd  to  claim  that  algebra,  Greek, 
geography,  and  the  other  branches  that  occupy  so  much 
of  our  attention  here  are  the  only  things  that  can  com- 
pletely absorb  men's  thoughts.  It  might  even  be  said 
of  certain  individuals  among  us,  whom  I  will  not  name, 
that  these  studies  are  about  the  only  tilings  that  cannot 
completely  absorb  their  thoughts.  \_Laughter.'\  But  we 
will  suppose  that  they  fulfil  their  mission,  that  they 
are  among  the  good,  useful,  at  least  harmless,  things 
which  absorb  men's  attention,  and  thus  keep  them  from 
possible  mischief.  We  have  already  a  pretty  good  an- 
swer to  the  question,  "\^Tiat  has  algebra  to  do  with 
virtue  ?  " 

Louisa  Thoni2)son.  Wliy  should  unoccupied  minds, 
or  rather  those  which  are  free  to  act  according  to  the 
impulse  of  each  moment,  —  for  I  suppose  it  is  true  that 
no  waking  mind  can  be  really  unoccupied,  —  why  should 
they  be  so  prone  to  evil  ?  why  shouldn't  they  be  equally 
prone  to  good  ? 


222  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Dr.  Dix.  Why,  indeed?  It  is  a  question  easy  to 
ask,  but  hard  to  answer.  It  seems  to  be  the  general 
policy  of  Nature  that  good  should  be  the  prize  of  effort 
and  evil  the  penalty  of  idleness.  A  garden  left  to  itself 
bears  a  crop  of  ugly,  useless,  or  noxious  weeds,  with 
only  now  and  then  a  pleasing  flower  or  a  wholesome 
fruit.  A  mind  left  to  its  own  undirected  thoughts  is 
very  much  like  the  neglected  garden.  What  a  crop  of 
rambling,  inane  fancies,  of  unreasoning  discontent,  of 
foolish  sighing  for  the  impossible,  or  perhaps  of  hatred, 
envy,  and  impurity,  with  all  their  poisonous,  bitter 
fruits,  it  will  bear  ! 

Frederick  Fox.  Yet  some  of  the  brightest  thoughts 
in  literature  and  even  some  of  the  important  discov- 
eries in  science  are  said  to  have  been  struck  out  in  an 
idle  hour. 

Jjr.  Dix.  Not  often,  however,  by  habitually  idle 
minds.  The  unoccupied  hours  of  habitually  busy  minds 
are  not  what  we  are  speaking  of.  The  busiest  worker 
must  have  his  hours  of  rest.  Still,  there  may  be  excep- 
tions to  the  rule  I  have  been  laying  down.  As  I  have 
said,  the  neglected  garden  may  bear,  now  and  then,  a 
pleasing  flower  or  a  wholesome  fruit. 

But  the  moral  function  of  intellectual  work  is  not 
alone  to  prevent  evil  or  useless  thoughts  by  preoccupy- 
ing the  ground,  —  it  has  also  a  positive  influence  upon 
the  moral  nature. 

It  is  commonly  said  that  a  large  proportion  of  our 
acts  have  none  of  what  is  called  the  moral  quality  ;  that 
is,  they  are  in  themselves  neither  virtuous  nor  vicious. 
The  act  of  buying  and  paying  for  a  piece  of  property 
for  pleasure  or  convenience  might  be  mentioned  as  an 
instance.  That  of  studying  a  lesson  in  algebra  or  Greek 
in  school  would  seem,  at  first  thought,  to  be  another 
equally  good  example.  A  little  consideration  will  show 
us,  however,  that  it  is  essentially  different  from  the 
first  mentioned.     In  the  first  place,  it  calls  into  play 


WHAT  HAS  ALGEBRA  TO  DO  WITH  VIRTUE?    223 

industry  and,  usually,  self-denial,  two  important  virtues  ; 
in  the  next,  it  disciplines  the  mind,  between  which  and 
the  heart  there  is  a  closer  connection  than  many  sup- 
pose. Our  three  natures,  the  moral,  the  intellectual, 
and  the  physical,  are  not  separated  by  distinct  lines  of 
demarcation,  like  adjacent  states  on  the  map  :  there  is  a 
subtle  interweaving  among  them,  like  that  of  the  three 
primary  colors  in  a  ray  of  light.  The  same  blood  that 
nourishes  oixr  muscles  nourishes  our  hearts  and  our 
brains.  Each  of  man's  three  natures  suffers  or  is  bene- 
fited with  the  rest.  But  what  affects  his  intellectual 
nature  seems  to  be  especially  marked  in  its  effects  upon 
the  other  two.  Intellectual  Greece  and  Rome,  cruel 
as  they  Avere,  surpassed  the  barbarians  around  them 
no  less  in  humanity  than  in  physical  prowess.  To-day 
the  educated  European  is  superior  to  the  Australian 
savage  both  in  his  bodily  and  in  his  moral  stature,  and 
among  civilized  men  those  of  purely  intellectual  pur- 
suits are,  as  a  class,  not  only  among  the  longest-lived, 
but  also  among  the  most  virtuous. 

We  conclude,  then,  scholars,  that  intellectual  training 
does  not  stop  with  the  intellect,  but  that  it  strengthens 
and  ennobles  the  whole  threefold  nature  of  man. 

Jose2)h  Cracklin.  I  have  heard  that  it  makes  only  the 
good  man  better,  — that  it  makes  the  bad  man  worse. 

Dr.  Dix.  If  that  be  true,  the  vast  majority  of  men 
must  be  good,  —  otherivise  our  prisons  and  jie^nltentiaries 
would  be  the  centres  of  learning,  instead  of  our  schools 
and  colleges. 


XLI. 

HOME  AND  COUNTKY:  THE  GOOD  SON  AND  THE  GOOD 
CITIZEN. 

Dr.  Dix.  The  child's  habit  is  to  take  things  for 
granted,  to  accept  the  blessings  of  home  and  country 
as  matters  of  course,  like  sunshine  and  water.  As  he 
grows  older  it  gradually  dawns  upon  him  that  these 
blessings  do  not  come  of  themselves,  but  are  the  fruits 
of  unremitting  labor  and  care.  Still  later  he  begins  to 
realize  that  the  time  is  not  far  distant  when  he  must 
bear  his  share  of  the  burden. 

The  management  of  such  a  country  and  government 
as  ours  is  a  most  momentous  responsibility.  It  requires 
the  highest  statesmanship,  the  stanchest  loyalty,  and 
eternal  vigilance.  Those  upon  whom  that  responsibil- 
ity now  rests  will  soon  pass  away,  and  you  and  your 
generation  will  be  called,  by  your  suffrages  and  personal 
influence  at  least,  to  take  their  places.  The  older  you 
grow,  if  you  fulfil  the  law  of  your  being,  the  less  you 
will  live  for  yourselves  alone. 

Let  us  talk  this  morning  of  those  great  responsibili- 
ties that  are  coming  to  you  all. 

In  one  of  our  earlier  Talks,  we  spoke  of  the  heroic 
soldier  as  a  human  type  of  that  perfect  fidelity  to  duty 
which  we  saw  in  the  inanimate  and  in  the  lower  animate 
creatures.  Keither  he  nor  they  exist  for  themselves 
alone,  but  for  the  great  wholes  of  which  they  are  parts. 

The  strength  and  efficiency  of  an  army  depend  upon 
the  faithfulness  of  each  member  of  it ;  the  harmony  of 
the  universe  depends  upon  the  fidelity  to  law  of  each 
world  that  rolls,  of  each  atom  that  vibrates. 


HOME  AND  COUNTRY.  225 

The  good  citizen  is  anotlier  human  type  of  the  same 
fidelity  to  the  general  good. 

To  make  each  one  of  you  a  good  citizen  is  the  great 
object  of  all  these  Talks  and  of  all  our  other  efforts  in 
school. 

The  first  duty  of  either  men  or  things  is  obedience. 
Universal  faithfulness  to  this  duty  would  bring  about 
universal  harmony  ;  universal  neglect  of  it  would  bring 
about  universal  chaos. 

No  stage  or  position  in  life  is  exempt  from  the  duty 
of  obedience.  The  child  owes  it  to  his  parents,  the  pu- 
pil to  his  teachers,  the  workman  to  his  employers,  the 
soldier  to  his  officers,  the  citizen  to  his  rulers,  and  all 
to  the  laws  under  which  they  live,  especially  to  the 
laws  of  morality  and  the  dictates  of  conscience. 

George  Wllliavis.  Suppose  there  is  a  conflict  of  au- 
thorities ? 

Dr.  Dix.  In  all  cases  precedence  is  to  be  given  to 
the  highest,  which  I  named  last. 

George  Williams.  Then  a  child  may  disobey  his  par- 
ents if  his  conscience  so  dictates  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Certainly.  But  he  must  be  sure  that  his 
conscience  is  right  and  his  parents  are  wrong :  he  must 
bear  in  mind  their  superior  age,  wisdom,  and  experience, 
and  the  possibility  that  he  does  not  understand  what 
may  be  good  and  sufficient  reasons  for  their  commands. 
If  they  should  order  him  to  commit  an  unmistakably 
criminal  or  immoral  act,  it  is  not  only  his  right  but  his 
duty  to  disobey  them ;  in  all  other  cases  it  is  his  duty 
to  trust  to  their  judgment  and  parental  fidelity.  Grati- 
tude and  natural  affection  should  incline  him  to  obedi- 
ence where  otherwise  he  might  hesitate. 

Do  you  realize,  boys  and  girls,  what  you  owe  your 
parents  ?  Think  of  your  infancy,  of  the  tender  care 
and  the  utter  forgetfulness  of  self  with  which  your 
helplessness  was  guarded  and  your  every  need  supplied ; 
of  the  long,  long  years  of  your  childhood,  of  the  won- 


226  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

derful  patience  with  wMch  your  folly,  petulance,  and 
thoughtless  ingratitude  were  borne,  —  not  merely  borne, 
but  repaid  with  unremitting  devotion  to  your  hapj^iness 
and  welfare. 

This  devotion  still  continues.  Never  so  long  as  you 
live  will  your  parents  cease  to  love  you  better  than 
themselves,  to  hold  your  interests  more  sacred  than 
their  own.  You  can  never  repay  them  for  all  their  love 
and  self-sacrifice,  —  they  do  not  ask  for  rej^ayment,  — 
but  you  can  make  them  happy  by  your  grateful  rever- 
ence and  obedience  in  your  youth  ;  you  can  make  them 
happy  and  proud  by  leading  noble,  upright,  and  aspir- 
ing lives  in  your  manhood  and  womanhood,  and  you 
can  bless  their  declining  years  by  returning  some  of 
the  devotion  and  self-sacrifice  which  they  lavished  so 
freely  upon  you  in  the  years  of  your  helplessness. 

You  owe  all  this  not  only  to  them,  but  also  to  jowt- 
selves  and  to  your  country ;  for  the  most  dutiful  son  is 
likely  to  become  the  most  faithful  citizen.  As  he  passes 
out  from  under  the  parental  roof,  the  filial  obedience 
and  fealty  which  he  has  so  long  practised  will  be  most 
likely  to  extend  to  "  Father-land,"  to  "  Mother-country." 
He  will  recognize  a  similar  debt  of  gratitude  for  bless- 
ings received,  great  and  manifold,  and  a  similar  obliga- 
tion to  stand  by  and  support  with  heart,  brain,  and  hand. 

The  man  otherwise  intelligent  and  honest  who  neg- 
lects his  duties  to  his  country,  from  indolence,  culpable 
ignorance  of  what  these  duties  are,  selfish  absorption  in 
his  own  private  interests,  or  the  mistaken  notion  that 
she  does  not  need  his  help,  is  unworthy  of  a  country 
bought  by  the  blood  of  his  fathers  and  preserved  by 
the  blood  of  his  brothers.  She  does  need  his  help,  his 
most  earnest  and  constant  help :  to  defend  her  from 
her  enemies,  and  to  strengthen  the  hands  of  her  friends ; 
to  protect  her  treasure  from  the  spoiler,  and  her  public 
places  from  those  who  seek  to  gratify  only  their  own 
greed  and  selfish  ambition.    There  was  no  lack  of  public 


HOME  AND  COUNTRY.  227 

spirit  among  the  founders  of  the  republic.  It  was  their 
devotion  to  the  xjublic  good  and  their  sacrifice  of  private 
interest  to  it  which  gave  us  the  best  government  on 
earth.  It  is  only  a  like  devotion  among  their  descend- 
ants which  can  keep  it  the  best  government  on  earth. 
The  immortal  epigram,  "  Eternal  vigilance  is  the  price 
of  liberty,"  was  never  more  true  than  it  is  to-day,  and 
it  will  never  be  less  true. 

You  hear  men  excusing  their  neglect  of  public  duty 
by  the  plea  that  politics  has  degenerated  to  a  contempti- 
ble, mercenary  trade,  and  that  no  self-respecting  man 
will  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  Happily  their  charge 
is  only  partially  true ;  there  are  still  noble,  unselfish 
statesmen  and  loyal  patriots  in  public  places,  there  are 
still  multitudes  of  men  who  vote,  as  they  would  fight, 
for  their  country's  best  .good.  But  if  the  charge  were 
wholly  true,  those  who  bring  it  could  blame  none  but 
themselves. 

These  very  men,  honest,  honorable,  intelligent,  and 
at  heart  patriotic,  are  in  the  vast  majority  if  they  but 
knew  it :  they  have  the  power  in  their  own  hands  if 
they  chose  to  exercise  it.  It  is  not  the  great  mass  of 
voters  who  are  to  be  benefited  (nor  would  they  be  bene- 
fited if  they  could)  by  the  plunder  of  the  public  treas- 
ury ;  it  is  not  thei/  that  wish  the  chairs  of  office  to  be 
filled  by  those  who  seek  only  their  own  interests.  If 
the  good  men  and  true  of  the  nation  would  bestir  them- 
selves, take  a  little  pains  to  inform  themselves  of  what 
is  going  on  all  around  them,  and  of  the  proper  steps  to 
take  the  whole  control  of  elections  into  their  own  hands, 
they  would  make  short  work  of  the  fraud,  corruption, 
and  trickery  which  are  such  a  reproach  to  our  still  fair 
republic.  The  "  machine  "  is  formidable  only  to  those 
who  are  too  indolent  or  too  timid  to  walk  straight  up  to 
it  and  see  what  a  mere  scarecrow  it  really  is.  It  could 
not  stand  against  the  persistent  opposition  of  the  united 
honesty  and  patriotism  of  the  land. 


228  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Frederick  Fox.  The  general  prosperity  is  so  great, 
notwithstanding  the  evils  you  name,  that  it  is  hard  to 
arouse  the  people.  They  see  the  public  corruption 
plainly  enough,  but  they  think  the  country  can  stand 
it,  and  so  they  do  not  think  it  worth  while  to  take  the 
pains  to  correct  it. 

Di\  Dix.  Yes,  Fox,  that  is  the  great  trouble.  As 
some  one  has  truly  said,  tLe  danger  to  a  small  republic 
comes  from  without,  to  a  great  republic  it  conies  from 
within.  When  the  existence  of  our  government  was 
unmistakably  in  danger,  men  forgot  their  pursuit  of 
gain,  pleasure,  and  personal  power,  and  rushed  bravely 
to  its  defence.  Now  that  it  is,  as  they  imagine,  no 
longer  in  danger  of  actual  destruction,  they  do  not 
concern  themselves  with  the  smaller  dangers  to  which 
it  is  exposed.  They  are  like  a  man  who  will  peril  his 
life  to  protect  his  home  from  a  pack  of  hungry  wolves, 
but  will  carelessly  and  stupidly  allow  it  to  be  slowly 
undermined  by  vermin  or  dry  rot  without  lifting  a  fin- 
ger to  save  it. 

Cato  said,  "When  vice  prevails  and  impious  men 
bear  sway,  the  post  of  honor  is  a  private  station."  It 
was  such  sentiments  as  this  which  hastened  imperial 
Rome  to  her  ruin  ;  and  if  our  own  great  republic  shall 
ever  fall,  it  will  be  due  to  the  same  cowardly  and  sel- 
fish sentiment  prevailing  among  those  who  should  be 
her  saviours. 

But  she  will  not  fall.  Men  will  not  always  love  their 
private  ease  better  than  their  country's  good ;  they  will 
see  that  the  "  post  of  honor  "  is  never  a  "  private  sta- 
tion" when  she  is  in  peril  either  from  without  or 
within. 

George  Williams.  It  is  of  very  little  use  for  any  one 
man  or  for  any  small  body  of  men  to  come  to  her  res- 
cue. Even  if  it  is  true  that  all  the  honest  and  patri- 
otic men  might  take  the  control  of  affairs  into  their 
own  hands  by  uniting,  what  good  is  there  in  that,  so 


HOME  AND  COUNTRY.  229 

long  as  they  will  not  unite  '.'  What  would  the  attempt 
of  a  few  amount  to  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  It  would  amount  to  an  honest,  faithful 
attempt;  it  would  amount  to  their  doing  their  duty, 
even  if  all  other  '•  honest  and  patriotic  "  men  neglected 
theirs. 

George  Williams.  But  they  could  n't  accomplish  any- 
thing. 

Dr.  Dix.  Could  n't  accomplish  anything  !  They  are 
the  ones  who  are  destined  to  accomplish  the  salvation 
of  the  country.  Each  year  they  will  grow  stronger ; 
each  year  thousands  will  be  encouraged  by  their  grow- 
ing strength  to  rally  under  their  standard.  That  is  the 
way  all  great  reforms,  from  the  very  foundation  of  the 
world,  have  been  accomplished. 

Frederick  Fox.  One  chief  difficulty  is  that  there  are 
so  great  differences  of  opinion  among  really  honest  and 
patriotic  men.  Might  not  this  alone  give  the  balance 
of  power  to  frand  and  corruption,  even  if  indolence  and 
selfish  neglect  of  duty  did  not  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  Differences  of  honest  opinion  there  must 
necessarily  be  ;  but  they  would  be  enormously  dimin- 
ished if  men  would  but  take  the  pains  to  sift  more  care- 
fully the  evidences  on  which  their  opinions  are  based. 

Jonathan  Tower.  How  can  they  do  this  ?  What  one 
party  journal  declares  the  other  party  journal  contra- 
dicts, —  and  I  suppose  most  men  will  believe  their  own 
paper  rather  than  its  political  rival. 

Dr.  Dix.  When  you  get  to  be  voters  I  hope  you  will 
not  be  slaves  either  to  your  party  journals  or  to  your 
parties  themselves.  Don't  be  satisfied  with  a  party  name, 
however  respectable  or  historic.  Attend  its  meetings, 
find  out  for  yourselves  what  its  principles  and  repre- 
sentative men  are  to  be  before  you  commit  yourselves 
to  its  support.  Do  not  receive  your  ticket  already 
cut  and  dried;  have  a  voice  and  hand  yourself  in  its 
making-up. 


230  CHARACTER  BUILDING. 

Jonathan  Tower.     Hoav  can  we  do  that  ? 

Dr.  Dix.  By  being  alive  and  awake  at  tJie  primary 
meetings. 

Not  that  your  vigilance  should  end  there.  "  Eternal 
vigilance  is  the  price  of  liberty."  But  he  who  would 
control  the  course  of  an  arrow  will  do  well  to  have  a 
hand  and  an  eye  in  its  aiming.  Once  sped,  only  a  strong 
wind  can  turn  the  direction  of  its  flight.  Especially 
would  I  warn  you  against  feeling  in  the  least  degree 
bound  by  the  decisions  of  "  our  party,"  unless  they 
accord  with  your  own  convictions  of  what  is  expedient 
and  what  is  rigid. 

Do  not  admit  the  necessity  of  choosing  between  evils. 
If  you  can  agree  with  none  of  the  great  political  parties 
in  what  you  honestly  regard  as  essential  to  the  welfare 
and  honor  of  the  state,  join  the  party  with  which  you 
ran  agree,  no  matter  how  feeble  and  insignificant  it  may 
appear  at  first.  If  it  is  really  in  the  right,  it  is  destined 
to  triumph  sooner  or  later,  and  you  will  have  the  proud 
satisfaction,  the  glory,  of  being  one  of  its  pioneers. 

You  are  preparing  to  take  your  places  among  the 
educated  men  and  women  of  our  nation.  Upon  you  as 
such  will  devolve  the  greatest  power,  the  greatest  influ- 
ence, the  highest  responsibility.  Eemember  that  the 
noblest  product  of  education  is 

The  Good  Citizen. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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